


Warden's Beginning

by Dwarven_ass_fine_dwarven_ass (Altairs_sister), orphan_account



Series: Warden's Oath [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair is torn between horny and horrified, Banter with Alistair, Cursing (both the magic kind and the swearing kind), Dalish elves that aren't Dalish, F/F, Fuck this entire questline, Fuck you and fuck your king, Grey Wardens, Help, I Need an Adult, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Impossible to pronounce names, Lesbian makeout, Mages, My First Fanfic, Native American Character(s), Sass, Shapeshifting, Swearing, TW: BIG SPIDER, The Blight (Dragon Age), Well not technically, Young Warden, and another thing, and fuck your paragon too, based on Native Americans, but like, now with art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 76,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altairs_sister/pseuds/Dwarven_ass_fine_dwarven_ass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Having grown up with tales of Grey Wardens, Tsiishch'Ili's lifelong dream was to join them and fight darkspawn. When her clan detects an oncoming Blight she takes the chance, travelling across the Anderfels to Weisshaupt fortress and eventually Ferelden in hopes of fulfilling her dream. She doesn't know what exactly she expects, but betrayal, war and an awful lot of responsibility aren't it.Now with art on twitter: @dwarven_ass





	1. To be a Warden

For what may have been the first time in her life, Tsii felt small. She felt her hand twitching for her bow every time one of the huge humans met her gaze, but restrained herself, inhaling deeply as she came up behind one man with black hair. She cleared her throat and he sighed wearily, not turning.

"I believe I have made it quite clear that I cannot allow someone so young to join the Wardens," he said at length, finally turning to her. She was as tall as any adult, but her elven heritage showed in her small stature regardless, and she almost felt like a child in front of him.

"And I believe I am quite clear in my refusal to be dismissed without proving myself,” she responded strongly. The Warden gave her a long look, not the hungry, patronising look she seemed to get from most humans, but a scouring, curious look, inspecting her like her father had before he took her on her first hunt.

“I am fifteen winters,” she explained. The man's brows drew together sorrowfully and he shook his head.

“A child,” he sighed. Tsii's dark eyes narrowed.

“In fifteen winters I have fought against humans, animals, I have a mastery of the bow, I-”

“Enough,” he said, gently and kindly, Tsii didn't stop, a scowl curling her pretty lips.

“I have taken down an entire bandit camp single-hand-”

“Enough, child.”

“But I'm a trained shapeshifter, I have trained to use dozens of forms an-”

“Enough.” His dark eyes narrowed and his voice took on the tone her father's had when she was in trouble. When she fell silent, pressing her lips together and gazing up at him unwaveringly, he continued.

“I admire your spirit very much, Tsii,” he said slowly, as though he was trying to calm her down – she did admire that he remembered her name – and his eyes were kind, fatherly. 

“But you are too young for a commitment like this. You would be bound to the Wardens for the rest of your life, until your dying breath. When you are older, seek us out and I have no doubt that you will be taken in.”

“I know that a Blight is beginning,” she said firmly. The Warden was quiet for a long time, so she continued, confident she had his attention. “My people are closely tied with nature, and there is little less natural than the Taint, we know something is coming. Soon.” He still said nothing, and she grit her teeth, determined to not beg him. “Let me prove myself,” she declared. The man lifted a black brow.

“How?” he asked simply. Tsii drew herself up, tensed and ready for battle.

“Let me fight you. No holds barred. If I defeat you, Senior Warden, surely I have the aptitude to join you.”

There was a tiredness in his eyes that seemed to come with age and battle. He finally sighed.

“You must know that you could be seriously injured, or killed,” he warned. Tsii inhaled deeply.

“If I die at the hands of a Grey Warden, it will be a worthy death,” she declared. The man released a long sigh, one that Tsii recognised. He called a man over from nearby and said something to him softly. He nodded and hurried away with a glance at Tsii, who smiled widely, knowing she had gotten her way.

“As you wish, child,” he sighed. The man returned with a dagger and a shortsword, handing them to the Senior Warden and looking at Tsii again. She looked back, unafraid. He looked pretty young as well, old enough for some dark facial hair to grow short along a strong jaw, but there was still a carelessness in his mussed blonde hair, his bright eyes – she doubted he had ever seen serious battle in his life.  
The Senior Warden spun his blades around at his sides, dexterously spinning them along his fingers.

“I will not use sharpened blades,” he explained. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

He dropped into a battle-ready stance, and Tsii followed him, gathering the Veil around her and twisting it delicately. The Warden watched, waited for her move like any other seasoned warrior, and she took advantage of the time to decide, twisting the world around herself.

She leaped free of her smokescreen, a huge bear with shaggy black fur and piercing eyes facing the Warden down. She lifted her lips to bare her jagged fangs and slammed her massive weight down onto her front paws with a huge thud. She released a thundering roar, a crowd drawing at the sound and the younger Warden explaining them away.  
For his credit, the Senior Warden didn't even flinch at the furious bear staring him down, each step she took shaking her loose skin, her fur rustling. She growled again, she loved her voice as a bear; it was pure power and commanded respect. 

She suddenly launched herself at the human, thundering towards him as he brandished his blades. She shot past him, snarling and not caring about the strike he had gotten in, which would have buried his dagger deep in the meat of her flank. She whirled while he was distracted and swiped at his hand, the dagger dropping to the ground. Up close, she could really admire how large that form was compared to a human, and she planted her feet, taking him in her huge arms and roaring again, trying to be delicate as she pinned his arms to his sides. 

After a moment she snorted cockily, only feeling the cold steel against her vulnerable belly after she released the human.

He dropped to the ground rather gracefully and Tsii touched her belly with her paw – a slash with a real sword would have her innards strewn across the stones at her feet. She released the spell and looked at him, inhaling deeply.

“I have other forms as well,” she stated, folding her arms. She felt a little odd, going from twice his size to half it in a second, and the man finally conceded with a long sigh.

“Very well,” he said, holding his arm out. “I'll allow you into our ranks. My name is Duncan.”

Tsii smiled brightly, her stomach felt light, the way it did when she flew in the form of a bird, and she felt happier than she had in a long time.

“Tsiishch'Ili,” she responded. “But you can still call me Tsii.”


	2. To meet the Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Alistair and exploring Ostagar

While they waited for the rest of Duncan's recruits, Tsii took time to get to know the young Warden. His name was Alistair, he had said, and she found his company pleasant, he was curious, not very serious, although he seemed wary of her magic.

“I didn't think they'd let in a Warden younger than me,” he was saying, peeling a fruit and cutting off slices to share. “How old did you say you were?”

“Fifteen years,” she responded, slipping a large piece between her lips and chewing, the juice squirting out of the fruit and filling her mouth with sweet flavour. Alistair whistled in amazement.

“Wow, that is young,” he breathed. “I thought being nineteen was young, but you're just a...”

Tsii shot him a dark look and he trailed off, clearing his throat. He was quiet for a long moment, awkwardly chewing on a piece, and Tsii pursed her lips as a Templar tersely confronted a mage near them, tension radiating off the pair of them like two lions a whisker’s twitch away from fighting to the death. Tsii watched as the tension rose between them, as they both tried to keep their voices at a polite volume, until the mage snapped, spitting at the other man’s feet and storming off with electricity dancing along his skin.

“You know…” Alistair piped up again, picking a seed out of a slice with the tip of his knife. “One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” Tsii snorted, plucking his piece out of his fingers and shooting him a smug grin at his indignant cry.

“I know exactly what you mean,” she chuckled around her stolen mouthful. Alistair continued.

“It’s like a party. We could all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the Darkspawn something to think about.” He wiped his knife on the sliver of cloth peeking out from under his armour, slipping it into a hip sheath and rubbing his hands together in a fruitless attempt to clear the sticky dried juice from his skin.

“You know…” he began again thoughtfully, leaning back in relaxation, now watching a mabari warrior with his fierce war dog, who was currently laying on the ground whining as the man refused to give him a belly rub. “It just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

Tsii smirked at him, looking away from the mabari wiggling on the ground, trying to entice his human into giving in.

“You want more women in the Wardens, do you?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. She honestly wasn’t quite sure what he meant; the distribution of male and female wardens around the camp seemed as average as anything.

“Would that be so terrible?” he asked thoughtfully, before realising what she had been saying. “Not that I’m some drooling lecher or anything. Please stop looking at me like that.”

A small laugh slipped out from Tsii’s lips and she spared him her terribly judgemental gaze, looking back at the fierce beast that was still on the ground, his human gesturing towards a tent and giving orders, all of which were completely ignored. There was a long, comfortable silence as they both watched the warrior talking to the unresponsive hound, continuing to gesture to the tent.

The mabari didn’t budge, and the warrior threw his hands up, finally relenting and giving the powerful lump of muscle on the hound’s chest a quick rub. He immediately jumped to his feet, apparently satisfied, and trotted along after his exasperated human.

“So, I’m curious,” Alistair suddenly said. “Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?”

Tsii nodded, they were hard to miss in the Anderfels, sprouting out from every rock and hole.

“I had to deal with a couple on my way to Ferelden.”

Alistair hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve only fought them up close once,” he admitted. “And that was before the battles here started…which Duncan has kept me out of so far. Tell me, did you find them as monstrous as I did?”

Tsii shrugged.

“I mean, they’re hideous…dangerous, but killable,” she said, looking at him. Her father had taught her that she need not fear anything that bleeds. ‘If it bleeds,’ he had always said ‘put arrows in it until it stops bleeding’.

“You’ll be at an advantage, then. Most new recruits have never even seen darkspawn.” He sighed, placing his hands on his knees and standing up. “Anyhow, we should head back to Duncan. I imagine he’s eager to get things started.”

Tsii’s heart leapt into her throat. She had been working her entire life to get to the joining, and now it was finally approaching, she was sick with nerves. She jumped to her feet, following Alistair and running her fingers through her hair to try and soothe herself.

“What’s with those glares you keep getting?” she asked as they passed another mage giving the blonde a nasty, distrustful look. Alistair shrugged.

“Apparently they don’t like my “glibness”,” he said, emphasising the word. “The revered mother in the camp keeps sending me after them, and they don’t trust me because I was a Templar before I was a Warden.”

“Huh,” Tsii said thoughtfully. “Templar, Warden, Asshole, how do you keep up with all these titles?”

“Oh I have to write them on my hand,” he responded quickly, grinning at her. “It truly is my greatest burden.”

Tsii didn’t know what to say to that, laughing until she caught a glance at a few cages dangling from a makeshift wooden structure. In one of them, a thin, naked man looked longingly at the Chantry Brother handing out dinner rations. Alistair nudged her.

“Have you got that slip of parchment with your name on it? The one they gave you earlier?”

“Uhh…” Tsii patted herself down, finally pulling the crumpled parchment out of her bracer. “Yup.”

“Good,” Alistair said, “otherwise you’re stuck gnawing on leather all night.”

She nodded distractedly, still looking at the man in the cage, and suddenly made a beeline for him, leaving Alistair watching her curiously. The cage was old and rusted, and the man inside looked miserable, his guard ignoring her approach. The prisoner released a humourless, short laugh.

“Someone finally comes and talks to the lone prisoner?” he said. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to sentence me.”

Tsii folded her arms, tilting her head.

“You haven’t been sentenced?” she asked. He scoffed.

“No, they put someone like me in a cage until someone important has time to decide what to do with me.” He rubbed his face, leaning against the side of his cage, which sent it swinging a little, a light creak of protest coming from the chain. “I don’t suppose you have a bit of kindness in you? All I want is food and water. They haven’t fed me since I was locked up, and I’m starving.”

The plea in his voice was obvious, as was his pain. Tsii felt an echo of it as well, that empty feeling, her stomach pinching, turning as though it was trying to devour itself.

“Tell me why you’re in there,” she demanded, and he sighed.

“I’m a deserter,” he said. “Or so they think. I bet there’s no arguing them out of it though – armies are funny that way.”

Tsii narrowed her eyes, she couldn’t really blame him, darkspawn alone were the stuff of nightmares, but an entire army of them? A Blight? Even she trembled at the thought.

“ _Did_ you desert?” she asked. She couldn’t really blame him, but to abandon one’s comrades the day before a battle was the worst thing she could think of doing to them.

“I wasn’t deserting, but when you catch someone sneakin’ around camp in the middle of the night, what else are you gonna think? Does it matter? All I want is a bit of food and water.”

So he was a thief, or worse. She still nodded, she wouldn’t wish death from hunger on anybody, the dried, cracked skin, the shrivelled tongue, the wasting away, just _wishing_.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she relented. Pained relief flooded onto his face.

“Just ask my guard for his,” he suggested. “He’s still got some dinner; I saw him put it in his coat.”

She turned to look at the guard, a nondescript armoured Fereldan like everyone else there. He noticed her looking and nodded at her, flashing a grin.

“Lucky dog,” he chuckled. “You Grey Wardens get to ride with the King while I’m left with the drudgery of guarding this deserter. They should have just hanged him. Put his head on a pike as an example.”

It was a kinder death than what they were giving him.

“It seems a waste for you to guard him all day,” she pointed out, leaning against the fence separating the little prison from the rest of the camp.

“Well I can’t just let him go, can I?” he grumbled, shrugging. “The army will figure out what to do with him. Probably just waiting for someone important to make a decision. Then they’ll hang him, I expect, and I can do something else.”

Tsii nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

“I had a chat with him, actually.”

The guard huffed, tossing his prisoner a disgusted look.

“Don’t expect it was an enlightening conversation.”

“He just asked for some food and water,” she said gently. The guard folded his arms with ire.

“Did he now? Since nobody sends me nothing to feed him with, the only way he’ll get that is if I give him mine.” He sounded so appalled at the idea. Tsii was shocked, gaping up at him.

“So you miss one meal – this man could be _hanged_ soon!” she said, throwing her hands up. The guard shrugged again.

“So? It’s not up to me to make sure he gets fed.”

Tsii growled, spinning on her heel and pulling her meal ticket out of her sleeve as she stormed off, heading up to the Brother with the rations cart. She spoke to him briefly, handing him the ticket, which he used a quill to mark the back of, and he smiled as he offered her a small roll of hard bread and a bowl with a lid tied on.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting a chipped spoon as well, and he nodded.

“Maker bless you,” was his response, turning to move his cart away.

Tsii looked at the food. The smell of the stew was leaking from the lidded bowl, and while the bread was hard in her hand, someone had warmed it, and it smelled wonderful. Her stomach suddenly piped up, but she ignored it, shaking her head and taking large, long strides back to the prisoner.

She could feel Alistair watching her and wondered if he was going to mention this to Duncan. In fact, she wondered if he would have a problem with it.

The guard watched her judgementally as she strode past, and the prisoner’s eyes lit up when he saw the bowl in her hand. She offered him a smile and passed the spoon through the cage, opening the small food hatch to pass the bowl and bread through. The guard watched her carefully as she pulled her water flask off her belt, passing it through and closing the hatch, and the prisoner wasted no time, tearing the lid off and pouring the stew down his throat, surely burning his tongue. He barely chewed the chunks of meat and vegetables, draining the bowl and tearing the bread in half, mopping up the leftover stew and devouring it before turning on her water flask. He chugged the entire thing as though someone was about to take it from him and gasped for air when he was finished.

He leaned back against the cage, sighing in relief.

“You’re a kind soul, you are!” he said, giving her a heartfelt smile. “May Andraste herself rain blessings upon you!”

Tsii smiled back, accepting the empty bowl and flask and saying nothing. She glanced at the guard on her way out, noticing his bewildered look when her stomach protested her decision. She gave the empty bowl back to the kind Brother and rejoined Alistair.

“That was kind of you,” he murmured. Tsii shrugged.

“I can’t let someone just go hungry.”

Alistair looked at her for a long moment, leading her towards a great bonfire where Duncan stood.

“I feel like there’s a story behind that,” he said thoughtfully. Tsii shrugged.

“Yes, ‘tis a long tale filled with love lost and many dragons,” she said dramatically. “Alas, ‘tis a tale for another time.” Alistair snorted.

“You could have just said you didn’t want to tell me.”

“But that wouldn’t be _nearly_ as funny.”

She heard a low chuckle from his general direction and smiled brightly at the two men waiting with Duncan.

“This is Ser Jory,” Alistair introduced the taller, heavyset man. “A knight from Redcliffe.”

Jory introduced himself politely. He was a large human, wearing chainmail armour with a greatsword slung across his broad back. His hair was beginning to recede back from his forehead, and he had big, trusting brown eyes. Alistair continued, gesturing to the equally tall, more slender man beside him.

“You’ve already met Daveth…and this of course is the recruit that Duncan said he was bringing,” he finished, gesturing to her. Daveth was a bit of an asshole, she had discovered earlier while wandering around the camp, awfully full of himself and yet another person who looked at her and only saw an elf.

She introduced herself as well with a grin and a wave, swallowing back her nerves. She had no idea how close their Joining was, and it made her anxious.

Duncan spoke up in his authoritative, rough voice.

“Now then, since you are all here, we can begin.” He set his sharp black eyes on each of them in turn. “You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit.”

Tsii nodded, eager to show herself worthy again.

“And the second task?” she asked eagerly. Duncan glanced at her, old eyes unreadable.

“There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts,” he said. “It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can.”

He turned to the blonde, who nodded dutifully. He explained a few more details to Alistair, who took his orders eagerly, and finally bade them farewell, watching as they went forth, taking the next step to becoming Wardens.


	3. The Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring the Korcari Wilds and searching for B L O O D.

It was only when they were truly in the wilds – after Tsii’s sudden transformation into a lion in order to dispatch several wolves sent both Jory and Daveth into a fearful daze, and after she had calmly explained that one could be a shapeshifter without being a nasty old witch, and that no, she could not turn into a dragon and kill all of the darkspawn, nor could she turn into a darkspawn and bribe her way through the forest – that Alistair mentioned a flower he was looking for.

“Something for a special lady?” Daveth had joked, seemingly at ease now Tsii was no longer a gigantic black ball of fur and claws. Alistair sighed dreamily.

“Yes, my dearest, she is so terribly sick and needs it to heal. It’s not hard to find – it’s a white flower with orange on the inside.”

“Is this for that dog?” Tsii asked innocently, peering up ahead at what looked like a broken wagon around a corner. Alistair huffed with offense.

“ _Mabari_ ,” he corrected, and seemed about to say something else when he spotted what looked like a body ahead of them.

“Just…keep an eye out,” he said finally, approaching the bend carefully. Tsii finally saw the rest of the wrecked cart, surrounded by bloody, mangled cows and humans, and the one soldier that lay sprawled on the ground before them groaned.

“Who…is that?” he croaked. ”Grey…Wardens…?”

“Well, he’s not half as dead as he looks, is he?” Alistair offered helpfully. The soldier didn’t seem to think it was terribly funny, lifting himself up onto one arm while the other – more a mangled stump than an actual appendage – dragged uselessly behind him.

“My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn!” he wheezed, tears in his eyes. “They came out of the ground…please, help me! I’ve got to…return to camp…”

Tsii pursed her lips, squatting.

“I have a bear form,” she offered. “I can carry you back.”

The soldier groaned, “If you just…bandage me up, I…can get back myself,” he managed. Alistair crouched, rummaging in his pack.

“Here, I have bandages in my pack,” he said, dropping his pack and tying a bandage around what was left of his arm, while Tsii smeared some poultice on the deep wounds which had nearly decapitated the man. He thanked them, stumbling to his feet and immediately fleeing in the direction of the camp.

Tsii watched him go, wiping her bloody hands on the grass as Jory turned to the slightly smaller blonde man.

“Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!” he gasped, fear lacing his voice. Alistair raised his hands soothingly.

“Calm down, Ser Jory,” he urged the _brave_ knight. “We’ll be fine if we’re careful.”

“Those soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed!” The knight insisted. “How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There’s an entire _army_ in these forests!”

“There are darkspawn about, but we’re in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde.”

Jory ground his teeth fearfully, hands fidgeting.

“How do you know?” he demanded. “I’m not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back.”

“You sound like a coward,” Tsii piped up, trailing off into humming a jaunty tune.

Jory seemed rather offended, pressing his lips together.

“I…am simply trying to stay alive. You do not see me fleeing, do you?”

Tsii shrugged, continuing to hum as Alistair stole the knight’s attention back.

“A bit of fear isn’t unnatural, you know. Few relish meeting darkspawn up close. I know I don’t.”

Tsii did. She enjoyed feeling their bones break under her paws, their dumb howls as they tried to formulate a plan in their half-minds with a lion tearing through their midst. She paused in her humming to speak.

“Don’t worry Ser Jory. I’ll protect you,” she said brightly, rocking back and forth on her feet, eager to get back into the fight. Jory didn’t seem impressed, his jaw tensing as he avoided looking at her, and she heard a small laugh from Alistair.

“I know _I’m_ relying on you to protect me,” he said, and Tsii rolled her eyes playfully, glad that _someone_ was willing to make a joke out of their dire situation. She began to sing the tune under her breath as Alistair informed Jory that Grey Wardens could sense darkspawn. Daveth remarked that they’d die, but they’d be warned about it first, and Alistair urged them to continue on their journey.

Tsii trotted ahead of them, continuing to sing softly.

“Brave Ser Jory ran away,” she sang, “bravely ran away. When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled-” she was going to continue before Jory interrupted.

“Only a fool goes eagerly into battle with monsters!” he growled. “We shall see how bravely you face fearless, heartless beasts when they bear down upon you, _girl_.”

Tsii turned around, eyes narrowed and a retort on her lips, before Alistair spoke up.

“Don’t say anything, Tsii. If we are to be fighting together, we can’t be divided by little things. That’s how Wardens die.” He looked at Jory, seeming a little exasperated that he was having to tell a grown man off.

“Ser Jory, you can’t let jokes and songs offend you. Not everybody respects Wardens like you do, and you can’t reinforce their disrespect by getting all high and mighty.”

He finished with a heavy sigh.

“Right. I’m done parenting. Can we go now?”

Tsii laughed under her breath, pausing as a growl echoed around them and twisting the fade around herself. She willed herself to change and it was so in an instant, allowing her to warn her companions with a growl that enemies were about.

She eagerly leapt into battle as the taller darkspawn fell upon them, her body so great, so powerful that she could hook her claws into their flesh and throw them through the air for the pure fun of it. The rotting, Blighted bodies sailed above her like drunken birds, gibbering and bellowing in confusion, and with one mighty throw, the Hurlock flew towards Alistair.

With a surprised yelp, the blonde raised his sword and swung, slicing into the speeding body and dropping it to the ground. Satisfied with the unmoving lumps of stink around them, Tsii trotted over to the grunting, cursing human.

His sword had nearly cleaved the Hurlock in two, and was buried deep in its torso, somewhere around its stomach. It had become caught on something within the slumped beast, and Alistair swore under his breath, trying to dislodge it. He braced his foot against its shoulder, grasping the hilt with both hands and _heaving_.

Shooting her a displeased glance, Alistair straightened with a grunt.

“You don’t get points for style,” he grumbled. Tsii bared her teeth in something like a smile, shifting back to a less furry form to give him a more recognisable grin.

“It’s fine, I understand,” she said brightly. “You don’t want to admit how impressive that was.”

He was quiet, giving her another half-hearted glare and yanking the sword out with a great heave and a strained sound. Dark red blood shot into the air from some severed artery and Tsii swiped one of the empty vials out of the small bag at her waist and stuck it as close to the area of the split torso spurting blood as she could. The pressure behind the liquid sent it splattering across her gloves, sliding down the thick leather’s shiny surface.

It took a while for her to coax enough blood in to fill the vial, and she finally corked it with a sigh, straightening.

“That’s three vials,” she said brightly, slipping it into her pouch and patting it with satisfaction. Alistair pointed out that they weren’t too far from the ruins they were supposed to be searching, gesturing to a broken shell of what used to be some kind of building atop a hill.

“Let’s head on and get back quick,” Ser Jory said quickly, ever the brave hero. Tsii shot him a look which seemed to raise his hackles a little and yawned, stretching and meandering along first, Alistair following with a snort.


	4. To submit to the taint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii, Daveth and Ser Jory take part in the Joining

Tsii watched with a smile as Alistair’s small smile turned into a gigantic grin. He looked back and forth between the kennel master and the sick mabari sprawled across the ground, and said something excitedly, before trotting back to the elf waiting for him.

“He says they might see about imprinting him on me,” he trilled, voice less that of a seasoned Grey Warden and more that of a child who was promised the leftovers of a cake. Tsii grinned back at him – as young as he was, he looked younger when he wore a true smile; his eyes sparkled, his voice lifted…Tsii wondered if that happened to her – perhaps that was why her age such a matter of contention.

The pair made their way back to Duncan’s fire, a clear bounce in Alistair’s step, and the old warrior seemed to notice it immediately, giving the young man an endearing smile before looking back at Tsii.

“So you return from the wilds. Have you been successful?” he asked, all business as Ser Jory and Daveth joined them, the latter sporting a fresh bandage from the medical tent around his throat.

“We have,” Tsii responded, as Alistair handed the scrolls to the older man. They were elegant things, the parchment looked fresh as any, sealed with blue wax stamps of a majestic two headed griffon and each tied with a different ribbon; one red, one gold, one blue, one grey.

“Good,” Duncan declared, turning the scrolls over in his hands. “I’ve had the circle mages preparing. With the blood you’ve retrieved, we can begin the joining immediately.”

Tsii elbowed Alistair, who seemed drunk on Duncan’s approval, and when he looked over she mouthed “ _Morrigan._ ”

“Uh, also…there was a woman at the tower,” the blonde finally said. “And her mother had the scrolls. They were both very…odd.”

Tsii wouldn’t say that…the older woman was certainly odd, perhaps the sun had withered her mind away as it faded parchment, but Morrigan, the sharply beautiful, intelligent witch had a mind like a whip. She spoke with care, each word measured carefully, her gold eyes bore into Tsii’s soul, even as she spoke respectfully, curiously.

“Were they wilder folk?” Duncan asked. Alistair gave a movement somewhere between a shrug and a shake of the head.

“I don’t think so. They might be apostates.”

Slight ire crossed Duncan’s weathered face, and a slight sigh lifted his broad chest.

“I know you were once a Templar, Alistair,” he said, not unkindly. “But Chantry business is not ours. We have the scrolls; let us focus on the Joining.”

Alistair nodded a little, head hanging just a bit, like a dog that had been told off for pooping on the rug.

“Will you tell us what the ritual is about?” Tsii asked, stealing Duncan’s attention. The excitement was beginning to build within her, a flame with flakes of bark being dropped in every moment.

“I will not lie,” the old Warden admitted. “We grey wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”

Fear dampened her flame – she didn’t work so hard to be accepted only to die before she was a Warden!

“Is that why the joining is so secret?” she asked, sounding a lot calmer than she felt. Duncan sighed forlornly.

“If only such secrecy were unnecessary and all understood the necessity of such sacrifice. Sadly, that will never be so.”

Daveth seemed intrigued now.

“Let’s go then. I’m anxious to see this Joining now,” he said. Jory nodded solemnly.

“I agree. Let’s have it done.”

Duncan nodded, gaze settling on each of them in turn.

“Then let us begin. Alistair, take them to the old temple.”

 

                                                                                                                                ****

 

It was cold in the ruins of the temple they were in, in spite of the scattered torches lighting the way. Tsii’s heart was in her throat. She had been waiting for this moment since she was a little girl, and in spite of her casual posture, leaning against a stone wall languidly while she boredly watched Ser Jory follow Alistair, her heart fluttered like a rabbit in a cage, she felt jittery and nervous, and a little sick.

She calmed down a little when her nerves changed to annoyance at Jory’s muttering.

“The more I hear about this joining, the less I like it,” he grumbled. Tsii rolled her eyes and Daveth sighed.

“Are you blubbering again?”

Jory turned on him, folding his arms and throat working as he tried to swallow nervously.

“Why all these damned tests?” he demanded. “Have I not earned my place?”

“Maybe it’s tradition,” Daveth sneered, seeming just annoyed as Tsii was. “Maybe they’re just trying to annoy you.”

Tsii scoffed. “Are all humans such cowards?” she asked, trailing off into quiet singing once again. “When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled.”

Ser Jory shot her a fierce glare, and tried to talk over her, only resulting in her singing louder.

“I only know that my wife is in Highever-“

“Brave Ser Jory turned about, and gallantly chickened out-”

“With a _child on the way-_ ”

“ _Swiftly taking to his feet_ -“

“If they had _warned me!_ ”

“He beat a very brave retreat, bravest of the brave, Ser Jory!”

“ _Will you stop?_ ” He rounded on the elf, roaring. She offered a bright grin and he sighed, looking like he wanted to drop his head into his hands

“It just…” he sighed again. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

Daveth’s slight smirk from Tsii’s fun faded, and he fixed Jory with a penetrating look.

“Would you have come if they’d warned you?” he asked. “Maybe that’s why they don’t. The Wardens do what they must, right?”

Jory frowned, deep creases appearing in his forehead and his eyes shining a bit.

“Including sacrificing us?”

Daveth’s gaze turned hard, and he folded his arms.

“I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight.”

“Will you both shut up?” Tsii cut in, spotting Alistair and Duncan walking gravely towards them, the latter holding a pretty, yet simple ceremonial goblet. It was silver, a simple design of parallel lines etched into the bowl and the recognisable Warden crest stamped into its base.

“Yeah, Ser knight,” Daveth sneered. “Try not to wet your trousers until the ritual starts.”

Jory grit his teeth, also watching the pair of warriors approach.

“I’ve just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade,” he finally said. Duncan stilled before them, an air of duty about him as he cradled the chalice, lifted it above his head.

“At last we come to the Joining,” he said gravely. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

He lowered the chalice, revealing the blood; it was a dark, viscous liquid, sloshing gently as Duncan moved it, the angle showing an inscription etched into the inside rim.

_In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._

All of the blood seemed to drain from Ser Jory’s face.

“We’re…going to drink the blood of those…those creatures?” he choked out. Duncan nodded gravely.

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. _This_ is the source of our power and our victory.”

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint,” Alistair piped up, voice soft. “We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon.”

Tsii’s stomach lurched at the mere thought of touching that liquid to her lips. It burned her skin when it touched her, and she was to drink it? She ran her fingers through her hair, trailing her nails along her scalp to distract herself. She felt like she was going to vomit.

There was a long moment of silence and she realised that Alistair was watching her, waiting for her to ask questions, as she always did. She cleared her throat, shaking herself back to it. She wanted this – she had since she was a child. She was going through with it.

“Let’s get on with it then,” she said, sounding a lot braver than she felt. Alistair gave her a proud smile and Duncan nodded.

“We speak only a few words prior to the Joining,” he said. “But these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

Alistair dipped his head as though mourning, voice low and grave.

“Join us, brothers and sisters,” he murmured. “Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.”

This was it. Tsii’s heart thundered in her throat, her stomach churned, she clenched and unclenched her fists, tried to swallow her heart. She shivered as Duncan’s eyes passed over her, finally settling on Daveth.

“Daveth, step forward,” he declared. The thief took a deep breath and stepped towards the older man, taking the cup from his hands and swallowing from it thickly. He looked for a moment as though he was going to bring it back up, but managed to pass the chalice back to the Warden.

He swayed on his feet, breath escaping him in a wheeze and lifted his hands to his head, grasping it as though voices screeched at him. A scream of agony tore out of his chest and he went rigid, back straightening and face turned to the sky. All at once, his body loosened, and he collapsed, to his knees, and then to the ground, finally laying still.

Duncan released a gentle, sorrowful sigh.

“I am sorry, Daveth,” he said softly, turning to the knight. “Step forward, Jory.”

Jory glanced back and forth between Daveth and Duncan, backing up and beginning to draw his sword.

“But…I have a wife,” he pleaded. “A child! Had I known…”

Duncan bore down on him, still holding the chalice. Tsii backed away instinctively; his demeanour had suddenly changed, to something almost predatory, his presence overbearing and powerful.

“There is no turning back,” he said gravely. Jory backed up further, as did Tsii, back colliding with a crumbling wall. Not breaking eye contact with his prey, Duncan passed the chalice to Alistair, who averted his eyes.

“No!” Jory cried. “You ask too much! There is no glory in this!”

The gentle sound of swords scraping against their sheaths rang is Tsii’s ears, and she wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Jory took a great, wide swing at Duncan, and he knocked the sword out of the way dexterously, shoving his other blade deep into the man’s chest.

“I am sorry,” he murmured softly as the huge man fell onto him, eyes wide and mouth agape. With a sickening crunch, Duncan twisted his sword and drew it out, letting his body fall to the ground and watching it crumple like a discarded shirt.

After a moment he turned his black eyes onto Tsii, and her heart stopped. She pressed herself against the wall, trying to suck air into her lungs, which felt compressed as though someone were sitting on her chest.

“But the Joining is not yet complete,” Duncan said, accepting the chalice back from Alistair. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.”

Tsii wished she had a way to magically summon courage, to not be a scared little girl pinned against a wall. She considered transforming, no man could catch a crow at its fastest – and then she thought of her father. His weathered, kind face, the lines deep as he smiled down at her. Some of the clan liked to tease him, saying that he was no elf, but a human with deformed ears, for his height.

In her life, she had never met a man as wonderful as her father; nobody as kind, nor as smart, nor trustworthy.

She took a deep breath, pushing off the wall and standing before the human with all the courage she could muster. She _was_ going to survive this. She _was_ going to return to her father a Warden; a victor over the taint. She took the chalice – the places where his hands had been were warmed by his body, but the rest of the metal was chilled against her fingers.

“From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden,” Duncan said, meeting her gaze without the malice that he had shown towards Jory. Instead, he looked proud, hopeful. Tsii looked into his black eyes and saw her father, supporting her.

She closed her eyes and tilted the chalice, gagging the moment it touched her lips. She swallowed a mouthful against her body’s wishes, almost shoving the chalice back into Duncan’s hands as she coughed and gagged. It was cold, but it _burned_ ; like she was swallowing liquid fire, and it tasted of dirt, and iron, and _hatred_.

A lance of pain shot through her head, behind her eyes and she released a weak cry, grasping at her head with both hands. Her spine straightened without warning, every muscle in her body tensing at once, her neck straining with effort. There was a flash before her eyes, nothing but blackness until it filled with green, and the beast she saw was terrible; a dragon with malformed, jagged spikes and sickly purple-red scales, fangs as long as its entire head and a long, thin, snakelike tongue peeking out as it looked at her with demonically glowing eyes and roared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be able to do quick updates for a while, some of it is written already.


	5. To prepare for battle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii finally fulfills her dream, but doesn't get much time to get used to her new life - the battle will begin soon

Tsii didn’t remember having fainted, she thought as she gazed up, two faces watching her proudly, outlined by stars. The stone was hard against her back, her lips tingled and there was a slight ache in the back of her head, where it presumably hit the stone.

“It is finished,” Duncan said. “Welcome.”

Tsii couldn’t find it within herself to speak. Duncan offered her a gloved hand and she hesitantly took it, him helping her to her feet.

“Two more deaths,” Alistair said grimly. “In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was…horrible. I’m glad at least one of you made it through.”

“How do you feel?” Duncan asked gently. She felt…wrong, in truth. Like something changed within her, like she was unnatural. She didn’t feel like a part of nature, she felt like the antithesis…was this how others felt? Those not from her clan?

She shook her head, hoping, _praying_ that the feeling would pass.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “At least it’s over.”

Alistair shuffled closer to her, and his presence was somewhat comforting, with his soft, sympathetic look.

“Did you have dreams?” he asked gently. “I had terrible dreams after my Joining.”

She didn’t know how to answer. She thought of the dragon, that unnatural beast that _saw_ her. She shrugged weakly, unsure, and Duncan spoke up again, voice soothingly reminiscent of her father.

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do,” he explained. “That and many other things can be explained in the months to come.”

Alistair looked as though he had just been reminded of something, producing a tiny vial attached to a thong and dipping it into the chalice, resting innocently on a pillar which had fallen on its side.

“Before I forget,” he said. “There is one last part to the Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us…of those who didn’t make it this far.”

He placed the vial in her hands, cupping them with his. It was small, but she appreciated the support. His gift was a tiny thing, a teardrop shaped vial with the curved top rising into an opening that was firmly corked. The thong was tied around the tiny neck, and it was filled with the thick, deep red blood, licking the sides of the vial as it shifted.

“We get the mages to enchant it,” Alistair explained as she cradled the vial. “They say it won’t break, ever.”

Tsii stared at it for a long time thoughtfully, finally pulling open the collar of her armour and tying the thong around her neck, touching the vial where it rested against her breast. It hung below the other necklace she wore, the leather band tied around the middle of her throat, three long claws dangling from it.

“Take some time,” Duncan said, breaking the silence with his weathered voice. “When you are ready, I’d like you to accompany me to a meeting with the King.”

The King? Tsii ran her thumb along the curve of the vial, thoughtfully.

“What kind of meeting?”

“The king is discussing strategy for the upcoming battle,” Duncan explained, admittedly looking a little confused. “I am not sure why he has requested your presence. The meeting is to the west, down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you are able.”

She nodded, watching him stalk away silently, and speak briefly to a pair of mages. She returned to the ground, leaning up against the same crumbling wall, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head against the stone.

She heard Alistair sit beside her with a graceless _whump_ and he was quiet for a long moment.

“That feeling,” he began softly. “You learn to ignore it.”

Tsii opened her eyes and looked over at his bright brown-gold eyes.

“It’s…” she sighed, closing her eyes and resting her head on the wall again. “It’s disorienting. My clan has always been connected to nature…now I feel…separate from it. Like…a stone brick on a flower bed.”

There was a rustle as Alistair nodded his head.

“I’ve heard that Dalish Wardens have a lot of trouble with that,” he said gently. “When you have time, maybe we can track one down and ask them about it.”

Tsii was silent for another long moment before it finally hit her: she was a Warden. She mastered the taint and came out ready to fight it. A slow grin overtook her face and her heart lifted, higher and higher until a laugh escaped her. Alistair jumped from beside her, looking over in confusion and what looked a little like fear at her smile.

“Uh…are you alright?” he asked carefully. Another laugh escaped the elf and she dropped her knees, folding her legs in front of her and placing her hands between them.

“It just occurred to me that I’m finally a Warden,” she explained, and Alistair laughed as well.

“Yeah, _finally_ ,” he agreed. “Duncan told me that you came here just to join, but he never said where you came _from_.”

“You know the Anderfels?”

He nodded and she continued.

“Well, to the North-West there’s a mountain range. My clan lives beyond them.”

Alistair made a thoughtful noise, gesturing to her armour, crafted specifically for survival and fighting in the dusty lifelessness of the Anderfels.

“I imagine it’s pretty rough.”

“Actually, it’s nothing like you’d think. It’s nothing but dense jungle, as far as a bird could fly, trees and grass, and the most _beautiful_ animals. There are more shades of green than you could possibly imagine, and plants out of a story; there are some plants with two leaves like jaws,” she explained excitedly, holding her hands together at the wrist to demonstrate. “And if something like a bug or a frog lands in them, they snap shut and _eat_ it!”

Alistair went a little pale.

“I don’t know what kind of stories you read, but that’s _not_ something you should be reading to kids!”

Tsii laughed, eager to speak of home.

“Oh, and the _birds_ ,” she sighed dreamily. “There’s one with a beak longer than its body, with black feathers and a white underside, and blue around its eyes! Oh, and an owl with big, black eyes, and feathers that look like eyebrows, and there’s one which is blue, and gold, and it can speak!”

She sighed, thinking of the one red bird that had become familiar with her clan, she remembered talking to it and feeding it leftovers. They had called it Ahuli.

After another long silence, Alistair cleared his throat.

“If the king wants to see you and Duncan, you probably shouldn’t keep him waiting,” he said. “He might get mad, start crying, you’ll feel bad, and…well, it won’t be pretty.”

Tsii laughed a little and nodded.

“Are you coming?” she asked, standing. Alistair shook his head with a grin.

“I lost a bet with the King, and my punishment involves a dress and the Marigold.”

Tsii snorted, heading off in the direction that Duncan had gone and walking backwards to keep talking to him.

“And you’re trying to get out of it, I presume?”

“Of course!” he called back, waving briefly and turning to go on his way. Tsii also left, passing a Warden and a Chantry Sister pulling a cart.

 

                                                                                                    **** 

 

Tsii was full of thought on her way to Duncan’s fire. There was something…off about Teyrn Loghain. Perhaps it was his voice, or the way he stared down at her distastefully, or the way he had muttered to himself as he left their meeting. It just made her uncomfortable.

Alistair was already at the fire with Duncan, the two of them conversing easily – from their posture she assumed they weren’t talking about the upcoming battle, but something simpler.

As she came into view, Duncan unfolded his arms, nodding to her, and looking back to Alistair.

“We have a plan, Alistair,” he said, something like weariness in his voice. “You and Tsii will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure a beacon is lit.”

“What?” Alistair asked, blinking dumbly. “I won’t be in the battle?”

“This is by the King’s personal request,” Duncan explained patiently. “If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”

Alistair folded his arms, pouting.

“So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?” he grunted unhappily. Tsii glanced over and folded her arms.

“Can Alistair not join you in the battle?” she asked. “I can fly to the top of the tower and have it done in minutes.”

Duncan shook his head, not looking awfully pleased about her disobedience.

“And if anything is to happen, there will be nobody to take up your duty,” he pointed out. “A bird against a darkspawn horde…nothing good could come of it.”

She couldn’t really think of any arguments that didn’t sound awfully whiny, and so she sighed.

“I’m ready to go,” she said. Alistair nodded, also sighing.

“Yes, so am I.”

Duncan nodded, pleased.

“You’ll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you’ll overlook the entire valley.”

_She could overlook the entire valley as a bird and save them all the trouble…_

“When do we light it?”

“We will signal you when the time is right,” he explained. “Alistair will know what to look for.”

“And may we join the battle afterwards?”

Duncan shook his head, looking her in the eye firmly.

“Stay with the Teyrn’s men and guard the tower,” he commanded, seeming to know that she had plans to do otherwise. “If you are needed, we will send word.”

A small pout twisted her lips.

“How much time do we have?”

Duncan cast his gaze about, around the camp preparing for war. The tents were largely abandoned, the Chantry Mother giving one last sermon to the soldiers who would listen. It was eerily quiet otherwise; the army was beginning to gather together.

“The battle is about to begin,” he said softly. “Once I leave, move quickly. You’ll have less than an hour.”

“I understand,” Tsii sighed, nodding.

“Then I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember,” he emphasised. “You are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title.”

Tsii nodded silently, and Alistair stepped up towards the older man before he could turn away.

“Duncan…” he said softly, offering his arm. “May the Maker watch over you.”

Duncan offered him a nod, grasping his arm in a warrior’s handshake and laying his free hand on Alistair’s in something much fonder.

“May He watch over us all,” he declared, squeezing Alistair’s hand and turning to leave. Alistair’s expression was solemn as he watched, finally turning and nodding to Tsii to signal for her to lead on.


	6. The tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Climbing the Tower of Ishal with Tsii and Alistair's first encounter with an ogre.

The tower was a mess. It was overrun with darkspawn, filled with fire and the remains of humans, mabari, darkspawn and some mangled remains that were unidentifiable.

Tsii and Alistair battled through with some effort, the former crushing skulls in the jaws of her great cat form, lean and tan with black spots adorning her fur, while the latter took advantage of the confusion caused by a giant spotted lion tearing into the darkspawn ranks to pick off the confused and scattered creatures.

The conversational snarls and grunts released by Tsii were all Alistair had to keep himself company, and he found himself having long, interesting conversations in what spare moments they had between spanking darkspawn with swords and screaming matches between them over who was supposed to be getting the alpha and who was supposed to be getting the genlock. 

Opening the door and letting Tsii through to the next level of the tower, Alistair wondered if that was what it was like to have a pet. For it to completely ignore him until it wanted something and then bother him endlessly until he gave something to it.

Although, he certainly wouldn’t mind having _that_ guarding the door, he mused. Her shoulders came up to his hip, and yet she looked low-slung, her head almost never lifting above her shoulders. Her muscles rippled under her tan, black-spotted fur, smooth as though there was no effort behind it, and her tail was held carefully out behind her for balance, the black tip occasionally twitching rather cutely.

When she realised that he wasn’t following, she turned, finally lifting her head to look over her shoulder at him, fluffy little ears perked up. She retained her black eyes, as the cat. Her pupils, irises, whites, were all indiscernible until her eyes followed something and the whites peeked out in the corners, and her pure black eyes bore trails of black down her muzzle, like inky tear tracks.

Tsii grunted at him again, the guttural sound produced from her chest and leaving her mouth with a twitch of her whiskers and a flash of her large, powerful fangs. She seemed concerned and he just shot her a big grin, closing the large door behind him.

“You have such a fluffy tail,” he said, squishing his cheeks with his hands to deform his lips. “It’s so cute!”

He was quite sure that she rolled her eyes at him, a low growl without heat behind it rumbling in her chest. She signalled for them to continue up the tower and he followed, laughing as she flicked her tail and occasionally whirled it in a circle.

Their fighting continued up through the tower, Alistair distracting a group of genlocks while Tsii slunk around behind them, leaping upon a Hurlock mage, taking it by surprise and ripping its makeshift helmet off in order to crush its skull in her mighty jaws. It yowled in panic and the other Darkspawn looked over as the cat gave a great yank, twisting her head and tearing the emissary’s head from its shoulders.

She dropped it, blood and viscera coating her white muzzle, and her whiskers quivering with excitement.

She bared her teeth, a roar tearing out of her chest that shook Alistair at his very core, and he shoved his sword deep into one of the distracted hurlocks, shoving the suddenly limp body off his sword with his shield.

He whirled to connect blades with another Hurlock, and heard Tsii snarl powerfully, as well as a wet splatter and a gurgle. The feline blur shot behind the Hurlock he was engaging, and Alistair knocked its sword out of the way with his shield, shoving his sword in and kicking it away.

She leapt upon the last Hurlock before Alistair could attack, throwing it to the ground and leaping onto it. In a flash she had her jaws around its throat, and with a growl rumbling in her chest, she clamped down, blood spurting out from around her jaws, locking around something before, with a mighty yank, she pulled something solid out.

As the Hurlock spasmed, blood shooting in every direction, the arm still clutching its sword jumped up, and Tsii released a pitiful yelp as it sank into the area below her breast but in front of her leg.

She staggered back, grunting and growling in displeasure, and Alistair trotted over worriedly.

“Are you alright?” he asked, trying to peer under the bloody fur. She harrumphed, shaking herself off and her gait as she headed to the next door was cocky and impatient. She grunted at him to urge him along and he shrugged.

“I have some poultices, just have a little,” he urged and she made a noise something like a groan, finally turning around to lap it up, out of his hand. She coughed, probably at the taste and grumbled as she went to the door, waiting patiently for him to open it.

The sound of crunching and slurping surrounded them as soon as the door swung open, and Tsii went rigid, releasing what sounded like a bark and shooting ahead. Alistair followed, drawing his sword again in a panic and following her up a short flight of stairs until the source of the sound was visible.

A great, towering beast stood hunched, crunching and snapping of bones echoing around it. Its skin was a pale, sickly purple, and hung tight around every lump and ridge of its bones. It was, more alarmingly, armoured; with large pieces of scratched and roughly carved metal strapped to it haphazardly.

Alistair couldn’t look away from it, it looked like something out of a scary story; something to scare children into behaving, lest it appear at the foot of their bed. A low, sharp breath escaped Tsii, a soft _urr_ at the end of the little noise, and the creature must have heard, for it tilted its head, looking over its shoulder to show off sunken eyes set into a skeletal, blood-splattered face, a complete lack of a nose and teeth the size of Alistair’s fingers.

Catching sight of new foes, the creature – what could only have been an ogre, from the tales the older Wardens had told him – stood, dropping the mangled corpse of the human it had been feasting on. It rose to its full height – larger than two men standing on each other’s shoulders, swiping its giant fist across its mouth and slamming one colossal foot into the ground with an ground-shaking roar.

It wasted no time, storming towards them with steps so heavy it was a wonder the whole tower didn’t come down around them. Tsii made a short, sharp sound and darted out of his sight as it bore down on him, fear coursing through his veins.

 

                                                                                                                                  **** 

 

Tsii ran close to the ground, releasing short barking sounds, growls and roars in hope of distracting the ogre. She had read about these beasts; larger than life, their hunger for blood only matched by their ability to fulfil that hunger. Alistair looked like a doll in comparison, a stick and a leaf in his hands to defend himself. She roared again, snapping the human out of the trance he was in, and he immediately took to slashing at the ogre’s legs, trying to duck out of the way of its arms, which were like battering rams.

She leaped onto its back, claws scrabbling to grab ahold of what had looked like thin skin stretched out tight, but was in reality thick and tough, like leather. She gnawed at it, swaying as the ogre tried to turn around and bat her away. She heard Alistair’s sword hacking away at its thick legs while it stumbled dumbly, and held on for dear life, her back legs scrabbling for a hold – _any_ hold, while she sank her claws into its back, hoisting herself up as the ogre snarled and bellowed, throwing its weight around confusedly.

Reaching its neck, Tsii turned her head, pinching the skin together until she managed to pierce it. Then she pulled the skin with a great tug of her neck, and having exposed the blighted flesh beneath, she tore chunks of it out while the ogre waved its arms about wildly.

The beast bellowed as Alistair must have severed something important, blood spurting out over the human, covering his face and body. Tsii didn’t have time to feel bad for the full-body sting he must have been experiencing, as she took a big chunk out of its neck, the ogre managed to take hold of her. Its great, meaty hand wrapped around her middle and squeezed. She yelped, all of her innards compressing together, and the ogre flung her over its shoulder.

She yowled as she hit the ground, _hearing_ her bones breaking as much as she felt it. For a moment she couldn’t move, feeling like a lump of shit dumped on the side of a road, but a scream that sounded suspiciously like Alistair echoed out around her, and she couldn’t leave him to fight that monster alone.

She whined as she dragged herself to her feet, pain echoing through her entire body and legs shaking with effort. She looked up to see the ogre knock Alistair’s shield out of his hand like it was paper in a breeze, and roared loudly to grab the beast’s attention. It roared in response, a blood chilling noise that made her falter.

She started at a sprint, keeping one paw off the ground to protect her shattered wrist. With the new challenge approaching at speed, the ogre refocused its attention, and stomped its feet so hard the ground shook. But Tsii knew that her greatest asset was knowing her form; she had watched the lions stalk in the jungle, she had spent nearly a year studying the large cats, watching them move, prowl, the noises they made.

She darted to the ogre’s left as it lunged for her, turning on a pinpoint and then running back towards it, carefully bouncing around its feet as it stomped and whirled confusedly, searching for her and bellowing deafeningly to her sharp ears.

She darted between its legs from behind, and leaped the moment she was clear, pain lancing through her paw.

The moment she was within inches of the ogre’s meaty throat, her jaws parted, and clamped down. _Hard._ Her fangs burrowed into the soft area under its neck, blood filling her mouth and burning her tongue like fire, but she held on. She locked her jaw tight, her body weight dragging down on the puncture points and tearing them further, and her claws joined the party, wildly scratching at everything she could reach while she thrashed, tearing the beast’s throat open ever further.

The ogre gurgled, swaying thoughtlessly and swinging its arms around to try and dislodge her. When it hit her broken ribs, she wanted to scream, release it and flee whimpering to a corner to nurse her wounds, but she held fast, trying not to think of the battering her body was taking and instead concentrating on not choking on the burning hot blood filling her mouth.

The darkspawn’s movements weakened, a hit meant for her barely clipping her tail, and the blood continuing to spurt out of its mangled neck coming at a lower and lower pressure. With one last, weak gurgle, the ogre collapsed, Tsii only barely releasing its throat in time to avoid being killed, but not fast enough to stop it from dropping onto her, its heavy, horned head crushing a body which was barely holding on as it was.

“Tsii!”

The worried call of her name lifted her feline gaze to see Alistair painfully limping towards her, leaning on his sword to avoid putting any weight on a leg that was bent in _very much_ the wrong way. She simply watched, blood still dripping from her maw; the weight of the head atop her was holding her chest down, she couldn’t breathe.

Throwing his sword down, Alistair grabbed the creature’s horns, hopping on one foot to try and protect his leg as he heaved it off the cat. She managed to drag herself away, digging her claws into the wooden floor to pull herself along. When she was free, she released the spell, weeping in pain from her injuries.

Alistair took his makeshift crutch up again, hobbling towards a fireplace in the corner

“The beacon is over here!” he cried, hissing as his foot brushed the ground. “We’ve surely missed the signal…let’s light it before it’s too late!”

Tsii hurried past him, waving him down with her good hand and clutching her other hand to her chest protectively.

“I’ve got it,” she wheezed, hearing Alistair limp his way towards her more leisurely. She grabbed a sconce from beside the fireplace, dropping it onto the pile of wood already there. It took quickly, rearing up like a rage demon and Tsii leaned against a shattered window weakly, lungs aching. She could see the battle below, the darkspawn meeting the Wardens and soldiers in a wall of death, and Loghain’s men, waiting on the sidelines.

Alistair limped to her side.

“Everyone still alive?” he asked through gritted teeth, sweating from the pain of his leg. Tsii grunted, chest hurting too much to even think about laughing.

“Except for all the dead guys,” she pointed out, smiling.

Her smile rapidly faded as she watched Loghain’s men turn, and march away from the battle.

“Wait, what’s happening?” she asked in shock, leaning dangerously far out to see the battle better. In the mess, the wave of red, purple darkspawn beginning to overtake the mess of greys, silvers and browns making up the Wardens.

A shine of gold stole her attention, she could barely make out what was happening from so far away, but she knew that gaudy armour was the young King’s. And she knew when she saw that armour lifted into the air by an ogre and eventually discarded carelessly, that it hadn’t done him well.

“No!” was the strangled cry that escaped Alistair’s chest, the moment Cailan hit the ground. He teetered dangerously on the edge of the windowsill and Tsii grabbed him with both hands to stop him from falling, watching a silver blur fell the ogre.

The sound of the door swinging open resounded through the circular room, and Tsii whirled

“Alistair!” she warned. He also turned to see the hoard of gunlocks storming in, bows and swords at the ready. She glanced over her shoulder as Alistair yelped, and was shocked to feel a hollow thud and a pinch between her breasts. She choked, the other two pinches barely hurting when her tired body gave out.

As she laid on her back, staring blankly at the roof, all she heard was Ahuli. She saw her bright red feathers, her little head tilting to the side in her curious little way. She heard Ahuli singing a lullaby, swaying back and forth on the post that she usually used as a perch, and then stopping, blowing a kiss.

“ _Hello, Sii Sii._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clear things up; I don't think any Fereldens have a clue what a jaguar is. Presumably they know about lions, since they're plastered all over Orlais, and I made the assumption that they'd call any big cat thing a lion. Tsii also calls them lions, mostly because her clan have their own word for them, and "lion" is just the closest thing to it.


	7. New members

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fuck shit up squad gains a reluctant new member, and then a very eager one.

Tsii awoke with a gasp so sharp it hurt her chest, shooting upright so quickly she made herself dizzy. She noticed a human shape nearby jump a little and blinked rapidly, rubbing her eyes until the shape became a familiar face.

“Ah, your eyes finally open,” she said smoothly. “Mother shall be pleased.”

Tsii gave herself a moment for her heart to return to its normal rhythm and placed her hand on her chest. Her familiar claw necklace was there, and as was a long thong with a vial dangling from her neck as well. That was when everything came back to her.

She looked about confusedly, chewing on her lip and only realising that the woman was expecting an answer when she looked over again. She cleared her throat.

“I remember you, the lady from the wilds,” she said simply. She seemed pleased to be remembered, a slight smile flirting with her lips for a moment as she dipped her head,

“I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten,” she introduced herself again. “And we are in the wilds, where I am bandaging your wounds. You are welcome, by the way.”

Tsii’s fingers crept across her chest, where the arrows had landed, and felt little more than some small, puckered scars. Her hand was also in perfect working order, a small scar along her wrist the only indication that she had been wounded there. She looked up at Morrigan, taking in her clever gold eyes and sharp features once again.

“How does your memory fare?” she asked rather suddenly. “Do you remember mother’s rescue?”

Tsii shook her head helplessly, fingers curling around the vial, which was a little warmer than her body temperature.

“I remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn,” she breathed. Morrigan clasped her hands together, in that remarkably polite, almost noble way that she did things.

“Mother managed to save you and your friend, though ‘twas a close call,” she admitted. “What is important is that you both live. The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend…” she glanced at the door, attractive features taking on a rather sorrowful look. “He is not taking it well.”

She had been hoping that she had imagined that part. It still gave her hope to know that Alistair was alive. That she was not alone.

“What happened to the Grey Wardens? And the King?” she asked, hoping to all the gods that he had survived being thrown by that ogre. He may have been young and full of dreams, but he was still a military man, a good planner. Morrigan shook her head.

“All dead,” she declared. “Your friend has veered between denial and grief since mother told him. He is outside by the fire.”

Tsii nodded blankly. What…what could they do? There was still a Blight on its way, and now there were no Grey Wardens to fight it; Ferelden had lost its _King_. So many had died that the rest of the country was surely a laughing matter to the darkspawn…Morrigan interrupted her panicked thoughts gently.

“Mother asked to see you when you awoke,” she stated simply. Tsii nodded again and sighed, rubbing her face and adopting a weak little smile.

“Thank you, Morrigan,” she said. “For helping me.”

The human seemed taken aback, lips parted confusedly before she finally found a response.

“I…you are welcome,” she finally said, quickly correcting her. “Though mother did most of the work, I am no healer.”

Tsii offered her another smile and pushed herself off the bed, joints stiff and muscles aching. She gathered her armour – which was cleaner than she had ever seen it – and pulled it on stiffly, feeling Morrigan’s eyes trailing after her the whole while.

“I will go then,” she declared when she was dressed. Morrigan nodded respectfully.

“I will stay and make something to eat.”

The sun stung her eyes, even as it barely peeked through a cover of clouds, and she immediately recognised the mess of blonde hair atop a figure looking solemnly out across the bog. Morrigan’s mother piped up as Tsii closed the door behind her, her voice raspy with age.

“See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man,” she said dismissively. Alistair turned to look at her, and even in the short time she had known him, the dark, hopeless look in his eyes was so unnatural it rather scared her.

“You…you’re alive!” he breathed, stepping closer and hands twitching as though unsure whether to hug her or not. “I thought you were dead for sure.”

So did she.

“I’m fine,” she sighed, leaning up for a gentle hug, which he gladly returned. “Glad to see you’re alright.”

The moment he looked at her again, the slight joy which had accumulated faded, and he looked miserable.

“Duncan’s dead,” he murmured, as though he still couldn’t believe it. “The Grey Wardens, even the King…they’re all dead. This doesn’t seem real. If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead on top of that tower.”

The old woman grunted, folding her arms.

“Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad,” she scolded. Blood rose to Alistair’s cheeks, and Tsii knew exactly why; the old woman’s tone reminded her a little _too_ much of the elder telling her off for being greedy or using her magic for “nefarious purposes”.

“I didn’t mean…” Alistair trailed off and cleared his throat, brows drawing together. “But what do we call you? You never told us your name.”

The woman shrugged carelessly, waving her hand.

“Names are pretty,” she declared. “But useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do.”

“ _The_ Flemeth from legend?” he choked out. “Daveth was right – you’re the Witch of the Wilds, aren’t you?”

Flemeth scoffed, tilting her head up to look down her nose at the tall man.

“And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?” she pointed out. The scars on Tsii’s chest agreed; she had been shot in the heart with a darkspawn arrow. If the piercing of the point hadn’t killed her, some dreadful infection would have.

“We can’t be safe here,” she pointed out, changing the subject. “Where are all the darkspawn?”

The overwhelming sense of dread she had suffered during the climb through the tower, during the battle, had disappeared without warning. She supposed it was the sense that Alistair had told her about, sensing the darkspawn nearby. Flemeth waved a hand dismissively.

“The largest part of the horde has moved on,” she said with a shrug of her old shoulders. “We are safe enough for now – old Flemeth knows a thing or two about hiding.”

That was a curious thought; that such a strange, crazy old lady wouldn’t be noticed when she was come across. Flemeth shot her a displeased look, as though she knew what Tsii was thinking and didn’t find it very funny.

“The longer you are here, the less that is true, however,” she pointed out gravely. “These things will notice you eventually.”

Tsii figured as much. She wondered if the darkspawn could sense the taint in her, the way she sensed the taint in them. Would she ever be able to hide from these monsters? Or would they always inevitably track her down?

She was quiet as Flemeth continued, soothing Alistair’s worry by assuring him that they had more at their disposal than they knew.

“Of course!” he cried. “The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from Orzammar, the Dalish, and the Circle of Magi! They’re obligated to help us during a blight!”

As though by magic, the life had returned to his amber eyes, the colour to his cheeks…and Tsii noticed familiar scrolls poking out of the pack by his feet. She could swear she had seen him pass them off to Duncan before the battle – when did he get them back?

Alistair looked at her, his young face a mixture of fear and excitement.

“So…can we do this?” he asked, voice suddenly soft. “Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?”

Tsii shot him a bright grin.

“Why not? Isn’t that what Grey Wardens do?”

The bright grin that overtook his face erased all her fears and doubts for the future; made her confident that she could do it. The sound of the door to Flemeth’s little hut closing took her attention, and Morrigan strode out with grace.

“The stew is bubbling, mother dear,” she said. “Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?”

“The Wardens are leaving shortly girl,” Flemeth grumbled. “And you will be joining them.”

Morrigan’s brows drew together.

“Such a shame…” she started to say before what Flemeth said sank in. “ _What_?”

“You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!” The old woman threw her head back and laughed. There was something about the sound of it that made Tsii uncomfortable, as did the flash of distress that shot across Morrigan’s face.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “But if Morrigan doesn’t wish to join us…”

“Her magic will be useful,” the old lady cut her off. “Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde.”

Morrigan turned on her mother, now looking irritated that her fate was being chosen for her.

“Have I no say in this?” she demanded. Flemeth huffed.

“You have been itching to get out of the wilds for years. Here is your chance.” She turned to eye Tsii. “As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.”

Tsii pressed her lips together, not eager to take in someone who didn’t wish to come.

“Was this your idea all along?” she asked, displeased. Flemeth quirked a grey eyebrow.

“Pardon me, but I had the impression that you two needed assistance, whatever the form,” she pointed out. Tsii wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and Alistair piped up.

“Not to…look a gift horse in the mouth, but won’t this add to our problems?” he asked. “Out of the wilds, she’s an apostate.”

Flemeth turned her sharp gold eyes on him, and they narrowed dangerously, the wrinkles around her face pinching together seriously.

“If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower,” she said, almost like a warning. Her voice was low and dangerous, and Alistair cleared his throat – it looked like he trusted her even less now.

“Point taken.”

Morrigan, ignoring the ex-Templar, turned to her mother with pleading eyes.

“Mother…this is not how I wanted this,” she said hopelessly, as though she knew that her arguments were better utilised against a brick wall. “I am not even ready–”

“You must be ready,” Flemeth commanded. “Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the blight. Even I.”

Well. Tsii was grateful for the vote of confidence.

“I…understand,” Morrigan finally sighed miserably. Flemeth nodded proudly and glanced at Tsii with a warning in her voice.

“And you, Wardens? Do you understand?” she demanded. “I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed.”

Tsii pressed her lips together, nodding. There was something about Flemeth that set her on edge. Their elders had told stories of the gods taking form of animals or elves, and she wondered if humans were among their favoured forms.

“Allow me to get my things, if you please,” Morrigan said with much dignity as one could muster after one’s mother had given a command. She strode back into the hut and Tsii stared at Flemeth for a long time. Her dark, weathered face and thin cheeks made her look innocent, trustworthy. Reminiscent of her clan’s elder or the grandmothers who would gather the children together and tell stories.

But there was something in those gold eyes that hinted at more, that told Tsii there was untold power laying beneath them.

Flemeth stared back, expression blissfully blank, as though she were consumed in thought, but her eyes were sharp and piercing, much like her daughter’s. She glanced back at the hut as Morrigan emerged, a tattered bag slung over her shoulder.

“I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens,” she declared, pointing off into the distance. “I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. ‘Tis not far and you will find much you need there. Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours.”

Tsii offered her a small smile. She was determined to make the sour woman happy.

“I prefer you speak your mind,” she offered. Flemeth released a bark of laughter.

“You will regret saying that,” she warned. Morrigan whirled on her, eyes narrow and voice sickeningly sweet. It reminded Tsii of the berries that grew in the jungles, the tiny, fingernail sized berries that only took a half-handful to kill a man in his prime.

“Dear, sweet mother,” she purred. “You are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment.”

Flemeth responded without missing a beat.

“Well, I always said if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards,” she said with a shrug.

Alistair cleared his throat, nudging Tsii.

“I just…do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?”

“We need all the help we can get,” she pointed out. Friends and allies from the most unlikely places – that was how she knew the Wardens, at least.

“I guess you’re right,” he sighed. “The grey wardens have always taken allies where they could find them.”

Morrigan fixed him with a look that could freeze a rage demon.

“I am so pleased to have your approval,” she said sweetly. The blood drained from Alistair’s face and he pressed his lips together, looking to Tsii for help.

“I think we should get underway, if we’re going to outrun the Blight,” she humoured him. Morrigan sighed, closing her eyes for a moment and turning to her mother.

“Farewell mother,” she said stiffly. “Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned down hut”

“Bah,” the old woman scoffed. “’Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight.”

Morrigan frowned, seeming lost for words.

“I…all I meant was…”

Flemeth stopped her.

“Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear,” she said with a genuinely motherly fondness. Morrigan sighed, glancing at Tsii, who nodded, and led the way through the trees, only glancing back once as they crested a rise.

Tsii couldn’t help but feel empathy for her, remembering herself, leaving her home to join the Wardens. Morrigan was holding herself together an awful lot better than she had, weeping uncontrollably, even as she smiled and waved goodbye to all she had ever known.

 

                                                                                                                 ****

 

When they broke free of the wilds, all Tsii could think about was how hungry she was. Her stomach grumbled and she glanced back as they stepped onto the compacted dirt of the Imperial Highway, towards where Ostagar was. Suddenly, rounding a bend from that direction, a dog appeared, loping along at a fast pace.

Alistair crouched down to see the dog, as it stopped in front of him, butt wiggling so hard that his entire back end was swaying. He barked twice, happily, and Alistair smiled at him, watching him turn, muzzle pointing towards Ostagar and growling ferociously.

Following him around the bend, a huge Hurlock fully kitted in rusted gold armour sat astride a terrible beast. The creature looked like a flightless dragon, teeth so large they didn’t fit in its mouth, jagged horns sprouting from its head and the back of its neck. It was white, four legged, with dirt and blood smeared across its scales. It hissed when it caught sight of her and she gasped.

“Usti?”

From behind the mounted Hurlock, six more appeared, snarling and growling. The alpha growled, drawing a finger across its throat, hidden by a huge helmet.

“Don’t kill the lizard!” was the last thing she said before leaping into the fight, twisting the fade around herself and forming a lean lion. She ran close to the ground, and leapt like there was a spring beneath her feet, flying up to hit the alpha and knock it right off its mount. It bellowed and swung at her with its sword, and she flicked its helmet up to reach its neck, hearing Usti give a rattling hiss and trot out of the way to attack its own Hurlock.

Alistair ran in, screaming, bashing a Hurlock with his shield to disorient it, and Morrigan set one on fire.

They made quick work between the five of them, and when the hurlocks lay dead, Tsii released her spell, jumping up to sling her arms around Usti’s neck.

“I thought you died in Ostagar!” she cried. He hissed happily and she turned to see Alistair talking to the mabari. Morrigan piped up, tone dark and irritated.

“Does this mean we’re going to have this mangy beast following us about now? Wonderful,” she sighed.

“He’s not mangy!” Alistair whined, rubbing the dog’s face as he panted happily. Tsii came over, Usti in tow and she smiled at the two bonding.

“He must remember you helping him back at Ostagar,” she pointed out. “You’re imprinted. Lucky you.”

He looked up at her, wide eyed and happy like a child with anything fluffy.

“Can we keep him?” he pleaded sweetly. “Please?”

Tsii shrugged, not sure when she became the decision maker.

“It’s not my choice,” she said. “Go ahead if you can take care of him.”

Alistair’s grin grew wider, if that was possible; and he gave the mabari a hug, rubbing his hands through his fur.

“Do you hear that, boy?” he said excitedly. “You’re coming with us!”

Tsii laughed as he barked in response, giving Usti a pat.

“What are you calling him?” she asked. Alistair looked at her as though it was the most obvious question in the world.

“Barkspawn, of course.”

Barkspawn woofed happily, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and Alistair patted him.

“He’s such a good boy,” he cooed, earning another delighted bark. Morrigan released another long, put-upon sigh.

“And I presume this _thing_ is also accompanying us?” she said with hardly veiled distain, looking pointedly at Usti.

Tsii narrowed her eyes. She wanted Morrigan to feel welcome, and rather liked her unique personality, but Usti had been her only friend for a long trek across the Anderfels, and she didn’t appreciate her tone.

“This _thing_ ,” she ground out. “Is a loyal friend who has been with me for years. If nothing else he is useful.”

Usti hissed softly and Morrigan huffed, watching Tsii rifle through the minimalist bags slung over Usti’s back. He lacked a saddle and only bore a simple strap across his muzzle, leading down into reins to assist directing him, which was exactly how Tsii liked it.

Usti sniffed, butting the side of his head against Tsii’s cheek – they had both learned the hard way that he shouldn’t press the top of his head against her. She rubbed between his horns, where his scales were softer and more flexible, and a strange sound rumbled in his throat, like a growl, but content.

“Let’s keep going,” she suggested, slipping the reins over Usti’s head and using them to direct him along the path. Morrigan followed first, intent on standing upwind of Alistair and Barkspawn, who took up the rear, both trotting along happily with huge grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So dracolisks were originally used by hunters in the Donarks, which makes them a good mount for a nomadic clan who needs to travel across the Anderfels on occasion.


	8. Lothering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in Lothering, the fuck shit up squad encounter some trouble, find some new companions and plot their next move.

Lothering was an eventful town. Even after encountering bandits blocking the way in, killing all but the leader, who had begged for mercy and was finally granted it…after handing over everything he had stolen.

Each thirty silvers richer, the unlikely allies had entered Lothering, and Alistair had broken the grief-induced silence which had plagued him for the past three or so days. After removing Morrigan from Alistair’s throat, they had formulated a plan, heading for the Circle of Magi first, even skipping past Redcliffe on the way.

“Mages are powerful and useful allies,” Tsii had pointed out. “I doubt Orzammar or the Dalish will eagerly join us, and having the Circle helping us may convince them.”

They also agreed to send a bird to Weisshaupt fortress in hope of bringing in some experienced Wardens, and after getting directions from a filthy farmer, convincing a merchant to bring the prices for his products down to something reasonable, and convincing a lost child to find solace in the local Chantry, they finally made their way into an inn for some much-needed rest.

The inn was warm and homey, a merry fireplace casting bright light across the scattered patrons eating and drinking, and Tsii paused suspiciously as a man in plate armour stood from a table, staring at them with a malicious grin.

“Well. Look what we have here, men,” he sneered, looking around at a few scattered soldiers in worn-in chainmail. “I think we’ve just been blessed.”

Alistair froze as well, Barkspawn growling under his breath.

“Uh oh, Loghain’s men. This can’t be good.”

One of the men in chainmail strode up to meet the man in plate – presumably the leader.

“Didn’t we spend all morning asking about an elf by this very description?” he asked rather loudly. “And everyone said they hadn’t seen one?”

The man in plate’s lip curled, flashing his teeth dangerously.

“It seems we were lied to,” he growled. Tsii wrapped her fingers around the bow slung across her back; if he planned to take that anger out on the innocent Lothering residents, she had something to _say_.

A redheaded woman in Chantry robes interrupted them, walking over and lifting her hands in a peaceful gesture.

“Gentlemen,” she said in a sweet, soothing voice cloaked in a thick Orlesian accent. “Surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.”

The man in plate scowled.

“They’re more than that. Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you’ll get the same as them,” he snarled. Tsii stepped to the side, standing between the man and the Sister.

“I don’t need your help, Sister. Please stand back,” she said, not willing to let an innocent woman get hurt for trying to help. She stepped forward, out of the elf’s protection.

“ _You_ don’t need my protection,” she agreed. “But these men will blindly follow their master’s command even unto death.”

The man in plate bared his teeth again, angrily.

“I am not the blind one!” he shouted, and, to her credit, the Sister did not flinch. “I served at Ostagar, where the Teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens’ treachery! I serve him gladly!”

Tsii was instantly irritated, the hairs on the back of her neck rising like hackles and her own lips curling to bare her teeth threateningly. Seeing her threat, the man in plate spat at her feet.

“Enough talk. Take the Warden into custody. Kill the Sister and anyone else that gets in your way,” he commanded. The Sister, to Tsii’s surprise, produced two long daggers from beneath her robes, leaping into action the moment she was attacked.

Ignoring all else, Tsii had already formulated a plan, and when she twisted the Fade around herself, she was low to the ground. Avoiding the attempted stompings by the soldiers. She scuttled around on eight, hairy legs, enjoying the terrified and disgusted noises she elicited. She jumped, grabbing onto the back of a soldier’s armour and climbing up, as he flailed about fearfully and yelped non-stop, trying to bat her away.

Her long, needle-like fangs easily slipped between his backpiece and helmet, and she pumped venom through them, filling him with enough that he dropped to the floor – and would feel like _shit_ when he woke up – but would not kill him.

She scrabbled along the floor swiftly, off his limp body and towards her next victim, who was spasming on the floor as lightning from Morrigan’s dainty hands coursed through him. She found another victim, who was busy trying to fend Alistair off, and as his foot strayed too close, Tsii sank her fangs into his boot, only able to inject a little venom before she was kicked away, but was swiftly avenged by Alistair shoving his blade into the man.

Next, Alistair knocked the leader down, and finding few gaps in his plate mail, Tsii climbed up his body and perched upon his chest. The hairy jaws from which her fangs protruded clicking together menacingly, while the matte black of her eight beady little eyes bore into him. He writhed, panic in his eyes and screamed as venom dripped from her fangs, splashing harmlessly onto his armour.

“All right!” he shrieked, raising his arms, not to attack but to cover his face. “You’ve won! We surrender!”

Clicking her jaws once more, and rubbing her legs together to make a bone-chilling hissing noise as the stiffer bristles brushed together, Tsii scuttled off him, releasing the spell and blinking rapidly, getting used to having eyelids again.

“Good,” the Sister said slowly, apparently not having expected the dog-sized spider which had appeared before her. “They’ve learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting, now.”

Tsii’s lip curled as she looked down at the man.

“Get up,” she barked, summoning every ounce of intimidation that existed in her small, elven body.

“Take a message to Loghain.”

The man nodded, shivering and looking at her as though she was a seven foot Qunari warrior and not a five foot-something elf.

“W-what do you want to tell him?” he stammered, none of the confidence which he’d had before.

“The grey wardens know what really happened.”

He nodded quickly, backing away.

“I’ll tell him right away,” he whimpered. “Now. Thank you!”

He backed away faster, preparing to turn and run, and Tsii called out as he nearly tripped over one of his soldiers.

“And take him with you! He’s going to have a _bastard_ of a headache later.”

He managed to grab the only living soldier by the feet and drag him out as he fled, the door slamming behind him. The Chantry Sister, who Tsii hadn’t been watching, slipped away two blood-soaked daggers.

“I apologise for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help,” she said. Tsii offered a small, sympathetic smile.

“I appreciate what you tried to do,” she said gently, shaking her head. The Sister smiled back, something warm and comforting in the gentle curve of her small lips, but something dark and guarded behind her storm blue eyes.

“I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy,” she said kindly. “Let me introduce myself: I am Leliana, one of the Lay Sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or, I was.”

Leliana. It sounded Orlesian, as did the slight tint of an accent while she said it. But aside from what basic facts the Anderfel hunters had relayed to her clan – and the Wardens on the occasion they had traded – she knew little about the Chantry. Her bewildered expression must have meant plenty to Leliana, because she gave a gentle smile.

“It means I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation, but I am no priest, not even an initiate.”

Tsii pursed her lips, humming thoughtfully.

“Tsii,” she introduced herself, offering a hand, which Leliana daintily shook. “A pleasure.”

“They said you were a Grey Warden,” she said, straight to the point. “I’m surprised you’re an elf, but elves must want the Blight defeated as much as humans, no? I know after what happened, you’ll need all the help you can get. That’s why I’m coming along.”

Tsii lifted a brow, folding her arms.

“Why so eager to come with me?”

“The maker told me to,” Leliana said quickly, backpedalling at Tsii incredulous look. “ I- I know that sounds…absolutely insane – but it’s true! I had a dream…a vision!”

From behind her, Tsii heard Alistair muttering under his breath.

“More crazy? I thought we were all full up.”

A frown pulled at Leliana’s pretty face, passion flaring up in her eyes as she gestured around her.

“Look at the people here,” she said passionately. “They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos…will spread. The Maker doesn’t want this. What you do, what you are _meant_ to do, is the Maker’s work. Let me help!”

Tsii couldn’t help but feel _just a bit_ uncomfortable with the sudden flare in her eyes, like a caiman bursting from the still surface of a river, fangs flashing as its jaws closed around its innocent prey.

“You feel sorry for the people? Help them here.”

Leliana’s brows drew together, anger suddenly mixing with her passionate hope.

“Then what?” she demanded. “What happens when the horde comes? It will follow anywhere we flee until all we know is destroyed.”

Tsii bristled. The fleeing people needed their faith an awful lot more than she needed a crazy dagger-wielding Orlesian.

“And along the way people will need you, and their faith. I _will_ stop the Blight, but I can do it without your help.” She was firm, meeting Leliana’s eyes and standing her ground. The fire was doused in the redhead’s eyes and she frowned.

“But I…” she sighed. “I will go, for now. It’s not important that you believe what I say, only that you serve the Maker in the end. Think about it, please? That is all I ask.”

Tsii nodded shortly, slipping past her to the innkeep.

“How much for three rooms?” she asked. He snorted.

“Haven’t got any. Barely any room on the floors with all these refugees – you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”

Tsii pursed her lips; she hadn’t _really_ expected to get any, but she had hoped for a warm meal and a roof over her head.

“Can we get some food, then? And maybe some wine?”

He shrugged, trading the coins with her and turning around, finally producing three mugs of warm, spiced wine.

“Food’ll be out in a bit,” he mumbled, and Tsii smiled, taking the mugs and turning to where her companions were delighting in having a seat that wasn’t the cold, hard ground. She set the mugs down, sinking into her own seat and unashamedly moaning as her sore feet throbbed.

“We’ll have to camp outside for the night,” she said, eyes still closed in pleasure. “But there’ll be some hot food out in a short while.”

“ _Yess,_ ” Alistair groaned, as though he hadn’t eaten in months, and Tsii popped an eye open to shoot him a glare without any real heat behind it.

“If you want food without bitemarks in it, you go out there and hunt it yourself,” she huffed, and Alistair stuck his tongue out at her playfully.

“I’m getting sick of slobber-covered rabbits,” he sniffed, and Tsii laughed, a gasp tearing from her throat as a pretty young lady brought over plates of what looked like juicy meat. The vegetables dumped unattractively beside it and slathered in some kind of gravy made her stomach growl loudly, and the moment the girl’s hands were clear she was shovelling the food into her mouth, moaning loudly at _seasoned meat_.

Alistair laughed at her ravenous devouring and Tsii growled at him around a mouthful of potato.

“You never really got warned about the hunger, did you?” he asked with a bright grin, tucking in a little less messily. She knew that Wardens could last weeks without food; it was one of the stories she had entertained herself with on her long trek across the Anderfels, and she guessed that extra energy had to come from _somewhere_.

Against her better judgement, she saved some meat for Usti and drained her mug, licking her lips happily.

“I’m going to go out and set up camp,” she declared, standing with a sigh and pushing open the door, noticing that the dead footmen had mysteriously been relieved of their valuables while nobody was looking.

 

                                                                                                        ****

 

The treaties were rather flowery in language: _I, King Bemot of Orzammar do hereby declare the support and service of myself and any successors to the throne to the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. In the event of a Blight, any and all available soldiers will be diverted to assist in whichever way is agreed upon by both the King of Orzammar (at the time) and the Warden-Commander…_

It seemed like a lot of words to say that they would help the Wardens in the Blight, and the other treaties from the Dalish elves, King of Ferelden and the Circle of Magi read similarly.

_Do pledge the support of every able-bodied elf that calls themselves Dalish…_

Each treaty was signed off by a short, simple signature declaring the writer “First Warden”, a wax stamped griffon, and another signature, accompanied by its own seal (except for the Dalish, which was accompanied by three inky fingerprints. She supposed Dalish elves had no need for signet rings or stamps).

Somebody tapped on the outside of her leather tent gently, drawing her eyes up. It was accompanied by someone clicking their tongue as though attempting to simulate the sound of a fist rapping against a door. With a small laugh Tsii set the treaties down.

“Come in,” she called, seeing Alistair’s head poke through the flap, a smile on his young face.

“I just didn’t want to barge in while the lady was dressing,” he declared. Tsii snorted and cleared some space for him to sit. They normally wouldn’t bother with their tents, but Tsii had warned them that the smell in the air heralded rain in the night. Alistair nodded at the treaties scattered along the floor in front of her, plopping down in the space she had cleared.

“Reading through them properly?” he asked. She nodded, glancing at him. He had removed the larger pieces of his armour, but still wore the leather underarmour that was intended to prevent chafing. He looked ready for a light ambush and Tsii respected his wariness.

“I still think the mages will be our best bet first,” she said, tapping a circle on a map she had purchased from the quartermaster in Ostagar. She paused for a moment, wondering if the grizzled old Fereldan had been caught in the battle, or if he had escaped in time.

“Afterwards,” she sighed, shaking the thoughts away. The best she could do was avenge them. All of them. “I think Redcliffe. If you really know this Arl Eamon as well as you say, we could use Redcliffe as a basic base of operations. Loghain can’t exactly march on one of the Arls, can he?”

Alistair pursed his lips, thoughtfully.

“Well, in place of King Cailan, Loghain’s daughter will be ruling. If he convinces the Landsmeet that we’re a danger, he may well be able to send soldiers to take the castle.”

Tsii grunted, running her nails along her scalp.

“It’s probably best that we keep on the move, then. After Redcliffe, I’d say Orzammar.” She sighed with a frown. “I have _no_ idea where we’ll find the Dalish though.”

Peering at the map, Alistair hummed, eventually tapping a swathe of green.

“We might be able to find them in the Brecilian Forests,” he thought aloud. Tsii shrugged.

“I’ll ask Morrigan tomorrow, and see if any inkeeps on the way know. For now I think we should have watch shifts again.”

Alistair looked rather confused, gold brows quirking up.

“Why? We’re in Lothering – at least enough to be safe.”

“I saw that corpse in the inn stripped down in the half-second nobody was looking. These refugees are desperate enough that we need to keep our guard up.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but then thought different and pushed the tent flap open, nodding thoughtfully.

“I guess we’ll do the normal cycle then?” he asked, hanging in the entrance. They always kept watch in half-nights, so that one person would be able to get a full night’s rest every cycle. Tonight it was Tsii and Morrigan, so the elf bid Alistair good night and sighed deeply, tying one flap of her tent open to keep an eye on the others as she continued perusing the treaties.

Soft thuds neared her, and with a breathy snort, Usti poked his head into the tent, his dull yellow eyes shining in the lantern she had beside her.

“Hey, handsome,” Tsii said, reaching up to run her hand along the side of his face. She hadn’t been joking when she called him a loyal friend; he had been imprinted on her as a hatchling and they had grown up together, as many of the hunters did with their dracolisks. He had been the one to carry her across the Anderfels on her way to Ferelden, with nary a displeased hiss in response to the scorching heat he had been bred to endure.

They were hardy creatures, perfect for a nomadic clan which switched between lush jungle and scorching desert, they needed little water and could occasionally hunt for their own food. They were also the cause of several cases of finger loss, but Tsii had always been taught that if she took care of Usti, Usti would take care of her. And so far what she had seen supported that.

As it was, Tsii welcomed the slender creature into the small tent as the first drops of rain tapped on the leather, and he curled on his side with a gentle huff, tail tucked around his legs as he peered at her with his bright yellow eyes. She smiled down at him, shuffling closer to run her hand along his bony head as she settled in to pour over her maps and plan.

                                                                                                        ****

Tsii loved the smell of rain. While Lothering didn’t carry the smell of wet leaves she adored so much from her home, the mud interspersing the stones beneath her feet was familiar and comforting. Her ears perked at the sound of someone speaking, in a voice untainted by the fear and dread overcoming Lothering. The voice was deep and even, speaking in a guttural and yet melodic language with a familiarity that reminded her of prayer.

She tugged Usti’s reins gently to encourage him to follow her towards the sound, his scaly, dexterous feet having no trouble finding purchase on the wet stones. The source of the voice was a cage, just outside the boundaries of the town, and within, a soaked man stood with his eyes closed, completely still. 

Tsii released Usti to look closer at the man; he had a sour face, even as it was peaceful and blank. His dark skin was from a place sunnier than Ferelden and his white hair was braided tightly against his scalp. His eyes suddenly flicked open and he gazed down at her as though he had known she was there the entire time. He stopped his prayer – or whatever it was – and watched with eerily sharp violet eyes as she observed him.

“You aren’t one of my captors,” he said simply, his voice flat and emotionless. “I have nothing to say that would amuse you, elf. Leave me in peace.”

He seemed too big for the tiny cage he was jammed in, broad shoulders nearly brushing the sides and his towering form a full head and a half above the door. It brought to mind the image of a bear imprisoned, taken from its environment and squeezed into a tiny prison to be observed and poked at.

“You’re a prisoner? Who put you here?” she asked. There was no emotion on his face as he peered down at her.

“I’m in a cage, am I not? I’ve been placed here by the chantry.” There was little to focus on as he spoke, it was like speaking to a statue. “I am Sten of the Beresaad – the vanguard of the Qunari peoples.”

Tsii’s brows shot up. She had read about Qunari, heard many stories about their fierce prowess in battle, their unwavering loyalty to their cause. She had always been entranced by those stories and had longed to find out more about the elusive people.

“I am Tsii. Pleased to meet you,” she introduced herself with a polite nod. She finally elicited emotion from him; a quirk of his white brow the only sign that he had thoughts about their conversation. 

“You mock me,” he accused her flatly, and as her expression turned sorrowful, he corrected himself, tilting his head slightly. “Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands. Though it matters little, now. I will die soon enough.”

Morrigan brushed Tsii’s arm from the side, gesturing up to the Qunari.

“This is a proud and powerful creature,” she said almost reverently. “Trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy’s sake alone.”

Alistair snorted. “Mercy? I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage,” she said smoothly, not looking at the human, who huffed.

“Yes, that’s what I would have expected.”

Sten spoke up.

“I suggest you leave me to my fate.”

Tsii wondered if he had truly resigned himself to death – especially death by darkspawn, which was a fate she wouldn’t wish on Loghain. 

“What did you do to end up in here?” she asked, the stories had always spoken of a single-minded people who were seemingly incapable of giving in. Sten narrowed his eyes in what she assumed was confusion.

“I have been convicted of murder. Have the villagers not spoken of this?”

And so he would be left to the Blight? She believed in justice, but the darkspawn were cold, unfeeling creatures capable of great horrors. The crime to deserve that must have been unforgivable.

“Who did you murder?”

“The people of a farmhold,” he responded blankly. “Eight humans, in addition to the children.”

Tsii’s breath caught in her throat. Yes, perhaps that was unforgivable.

“Are you guilty?” 

From what little she knew of Ferelden, it seemed that false imprisonment was hardly rare, and she hated to see an innocent man punished. 

“Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “However I feel, whatever I’ve done, my life is forfeit now.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Twenty days, now,” he said immediately. He must have been counting. “I shouldn’t last much longer. Another week at most.”

Twenty days alone in a cage. And from the soaked fibres of what looked like simple under-armour clothes, he hadn’t been offered any shelter from cold or rain. She wondered how he had survived – it seemed to be by pure willpower.

“Aren’t you interested in seeking atonement?” she asked. She couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped; but unless he planned to run around Lothering on a murder spree, she couldn’t just leave him in a cage to die.

“Death will be my atonement,” he said shortly. 

“There are other ways to redeem yourself.” Why die and end it there when he could better himself? She had managed to elicit another reaction when he lifted the same eyebrow and tilted his head the same way.

“Perhaps,” he said, voice heavy with thought. “What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?”

“You could help me defend the land against the Blight,” she offered. 

“The Blight?” he murmured curiously. “Are you a Grey Warden, then?”

Tsii drew herself up a little higher, proud. “I am.”

His face returned to its flat emotionlessness, a small hum of surprise coming from his chest.

“Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens’ strength and skill…” He shrugged thoughtlessly. “Though I suppose not every legend is true.”

That hit her like a punch. She bristled for a moment, now determined that he would come with them, and she would show him her “strength and skill”.

“Would the revered mother let you free?” she asked, adopting a similarly flat tone to cover her offense. Sten gave what she supposed was a shrug – a tiny twitch of one shoulder.

“Perhaps if you told her the Grey Wardens need my assistance. It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here.”

Tsii grunted, turning on her heel without a word to him and striding towards the Chantry with purpose, barely hearing Morrigan behind her.

“A penitent man left to be torn to pieces by darkspawn. Tis a fine example of the Chantry’s mercy, is it not?” 

                                                                                                        ****

The key turned easily in the sheltered lock, but Tsii had to lift the door a little and yank as hard as possible to move the rusted hinges, which groaned in protest. When it was open, she stepped back and stared up at the Qunari expectantly. He looked up and down, fixing his gaze on her.

“And so it is done,” he said gravely. He stepped out of the cage, having to duck his head and tuck his shoulders in to squeeze through. He gathered himself up, so much taller than he looked in the cage, and spoke with a serious tone. “I will follow you into battle. In doing so I shall find my atonement.”

She smiled and thanked him, but he didn’t return her look, glancing to the side.

“May we proceed?” he asked shortly. “I am eager to be elsewhere.”

She nodded, turning to Alistair, who was holding the bundle that the Revered Mother had given them. He took it with a gruff thanks, unravelling a bit of the red fabric to peek at the steel buckles and pauldrons.

“The armour you were captured in,” Tsii explained, as though she needed to. “There was no sword with it though.”

He nodded without a word and immediately began removing pieces from the fabric – which appeared to be a skirt. He pulled the straps across him, and Tsii noticed curiously that the belts only had one hole for the buckle, as though the armour was designed for one person and did not expect any fluctuation in weight.

When he was fully armoured, Tsii noticed his hand reaching over his shoulder briefly, as if it was a habit, and he stared at her blankly when he saw her look. She made a note to find a sword for him – they had sold or given away all of the bandits’ weapons and armour to the nervous villagers.

“Onwards?” she asked simply. Sten didn’t answer, but Alistair looked back before nodding gravely, and Morrigan offered a smile that looked like a smirk on her angled face.

“To the Circle of Magi, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Tsii traumatises the shit out of a hired goon.


	9. Dreams of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii learns more about her dreams and we arrive at the Circle.

It was dark, everything sickly green or violet…she watched a horde of torches march through a deep valley, saw an ogre knock a genlock out of its way, bared teeth glittering in the firelight. A roar shook the world and she saw the beast, the dragon. It looked directly at her, its roar shaking her very soul, purple flames spewing from its cursed maw…

Her breath caught in her throat as she shot up, causing a strangled noise to erupt from her throat. She looked around, inhaling properly and curling her blanket under her fingers. She was in the clearing they were camping in, where they had decided to sleep under the open sky, which was beginning to lighten. She saw Sten a short distance away, in the most relaxed state she had ever seen him – on his back in full armour, tucked under a small blanket with both hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

Her breathing began to even as she observed Morrigan sleeping on her side, arm tucked under her head and back to the fire, black hair sprawled out across her pillow.

“Bad dreams, huh?” Alistair’s voice cut through the sudden stillness and her gaze shot to him before she relaxed again. He was sitting up, sword at the ready beside him, a blanket draped across his shoulders and Barkspawn tucked into his side, his hand mindlessly running through his short fur. Tsii gave him a weak smile.

“Must have been something I ate.”

“Drank, more like,” he pointed out. “As in the tainted blood, remember? You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That’s what your dream was. Hearing them. The archdemon, it… “talks” to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That’s why we know this is really a Blight.”

She guessed that was why the Teyrn refused to believe it was a real Blight – he wouldn’t have been trusted with the secrets the Wardens kept, and the bastard seemed to think that their advice wasn’t worth taking.

“The archdemon? Is that the dragon?” she asked. The Blighted, deathly beast breathing purple flames and with a roar that made the very ground tremble? Alistair shrugged one shoulder.

“I don’t know if it’s really a dragon, but it sure looks like one,” he said. “But yes, that’s the archdemon. It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can’t.” He shrugged again. “Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me too.”

She smiled properly now, grateful to have him there.

“Thank you Alistair. I really appreciate it,” she murmured. He looked taken aback, seeming to have not expected her to be polite. He shot her a smirk after a moment.

“That’s what I’m here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners. Anyhow, you’re up now, right? Let’s pull up camp and get a move on.”

 

                                                                                                          ****

 

The Circle tower loomed above them like a giant with the world in its shadow, the lake at its feet. A tiny inn lay to their side and ahead was a dock with a single, lonely figure atop it, the ridges of silver armour glimmering in the bright colours of sunset.

Tsii glanced over as Barkspawn went galloping off towards a worn boat turned on its side on the bank, barking happily at a man standing nearby before lifting his leg and gracefully urinating on it.

“Charming,” Morrigan muttered under her breath. Ignoring the hound’s curious need to mark his territory in every new location they entered, Tsii made a beeline for the sharp form, which folded its arms when she neared.

“You!” the blonde Templar called, pointing at her rather rudely. “You’re not looking to get across to the tower, are you? Because I have strict orders not to let _anyone_ pass!”

There was a strange blankness in his face, a man who wasn’t exactly all there, and Tsii cleared her throat, speaking slowly.

“I am a Grey Warden and I seek assistance from the Circle,” she said. The Templar snorted.

“Oh, you’re a Grey Warden, are you?” he sneered. “Prove it.”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, slinging her pack off and pulling out the treaty tied with the silken blue ribbon. “I have these documents here…”

She slipped the ribbon off and unravelled the parchment, watching the Templar’s blank blue eyes peruse the slanted, practised handwriting.

“Oh a Grey Warden seal,” he scoffed, nodding slowly. “So you’re claiming to be one of _those_. You know, I have some documents, too. They say I’m the Queen of Antiva. What do you think of that?”

Tsii rolled up the treaty, a brow quirked.

 “I think that my documents are actually real,” she said, slipping the treaty back into her pack. The Templar folded his arms.

“Kill some darkspawn. Come on. Let’s see some righteous Grey Warden-ing,” he demanded. She looked around, clearing her throat.

“There…aren’t any darkspawn here.”

It looked as though that hadn’t occurred to him. He hummed.

“That’s good, I suppose. Wouldn’t want darkspawn smeared across the landscape. I hear their blood is black. Is that true? You’d know if you were a Grey Warden.”

Tsii rubbed her eyes so hard she saw spots, heaving out a sigh.

“It’s not black, but it burns when it touches you.” _Especially if you’re stupid enough to put it inside you._ The Templar curled his lip.

“Oh, pleasant, eh? Good thing I don’t have to kill them then. Anyway, it was nice chatting with you. Now on your way. Right now. Go.” He tried to shoo them away and Tsii growled, knocking away the hand that strayed too close to her face.

“I warn you,” she ground out. “My patience is wearing thin.”

The Templar shifted back a little.

“Uhhh… is that bad?” he asked dumbly. “Look, I’m uh, just trying to do my job. I’ll take you right now… just like you wanted.”

Tsii smiled sweetly.

“Please do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0o .,mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmjhgtre4wered
> 
> Sorry for any spelling or formatting problems, my bird decided she wanted to give writing a try.


	10. The Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving in the Circle, the fuck shit up squad finds that it isn't what they were hoping for.  
> Alternate title: Great Googly Moogly Everything's Gone to Shit.

The tower smelled like parchment, magic crackling in the air like the gentle clinking of Templar armour. A grey haired man in ornate, lovingly crafted armour with the tell-tale flaming sword emblazoned on the plate spoke with a Templar with sweat-matted hair and grave eyes.

“I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times,” he was saying. “Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?”

The Templar saluted him and nodded.

“Yes ser.”

As he turned on his heel, Tsii heard Alistair muttering behind her.

“The doors are barred,” he murmured, presumably to Barkspawn. “Are they keeping people out? Or _in_?”

Before Tsii could make a smart remark, the Templar who was presumably in charge turned to her with an exhausted sigh.

“Now we wait, and pray,” he said darkly. Tsii tilted her head, she was planning to show him the treaty promising their assistance, but it seemed the Circle was in deeper shit than the Tower of Ishal. Tsii to the rescue.

“You’re in charge?” she asked shortly. The Templar narrowed his eyes in displeasure, and Tsii wondered if he knew she was a mage. She wondered – with a tang of fear – if he was able to capture and keep her in the Circle.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “I explicitly told Carroll not to bring anyone across the lake. We are dealing with a very delicate situation. You must leave, for your own safety.”

Thankful that her mageyness wasn’t about to land her in trouble, Tsii stood a little taller.

“Not without a promise for assistance in the coming war,” she said firmly, pack already shifted to one shoulder, ready to show him the promise made for him. He shook his head dismissively.

“We cannot help, no matter what side of the civil war you represent,” he said, waving a hand. “The Circle’s fate hangs in the balance, and the Templars that serve it must remain.”

Tsii paused. A civil war? How could _anyone_ be stupid enough to even consider that? Then it struck her: Loghain. Of course. She had heard mutterings in the occasional inns they passed of the Teyrn taking the title of King Regent before Cailan’s body was even cold, but it hadn’t occurred to her that he would be stupid enough to start a war when a Blight was creeping closer by the day.

“No,” she said, inhaling deeply to maintain her composure. “I’m not here about the civil war.”

“No? Ah, then you must mean the darkspawn war.”

He said it so simply, as though it wasn’t a disease spreading across the country, pouring over towns and killing innocent people.

“Yes. I need the mages’ help.”

The Templar shook his head.

“You’ll find no allies here. The Templars can spare no men, and the mages are…” He glanced at a heavy pair of doors chained and boarded ominously. “Indisposed. I shall speak plainly. The tower is no longer under out control. Abominations and demons stalk the tower’s halls.”

Sten huffed from behind her, deep voice bland as always.

“This is why we cut the tongues from mages in Par Vollen,” he grunted. Tsii glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide as she was suddenly acute of her own tongue, which she sucked on. Why did the world hate mages so much? Couldn’t they just do mage things in peace? The Templar piped up again.

“I admit to agreeing with your companion.” He sighed. “Maker knows the Qunari would not have gotten themselves into this position.”

Yes, they would probably be too busy cutting out tongues and mutilating innocent people for the mages to get the chance.

“You said something about abominations?” She pressed her lips together, cocking her hip out and folding her arms.

“Creatures of the Fade can use mages to enter our world. A mage in such a state is changed; his flesh twisted, his mind shattered.”

Tsii cut him off, she knew what bloody abominations were!

“Have all of the mages turned?”

The Templar grunted, glancing at the door again.

“They may as well have.” He grumbled. “What does it matter? They took us by surprise. We were prepared for one or two abominations – not the horde that fell upon us.”

“Well, what’s your plan?” she asked. The Templar scowled.

“I would destroy the tower, raze it to the ground, but I cannot risk more of my men. The doors remain shut and they will protect us for now.”

Tsii looked over to get a better view of the doors, guarded on either side by helmeted Templars with hands on their swords.

“Has nothing emerged yet?” she asked, still looking at it.

“No,” the Templar sighed gratefully. “And perhaps the Maker smiles upon us. We do not mean for the doors to stay closed forever. Everything in the tower must be eliminated. I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment.”

Tsii turned back to him.

“The Right of Annulment?” It sounded like bad news.

“The Right of Annulment gives Templars the authority to neutralise the Circle. Completely.”

Tsii’s throat seized up; her body tensed. How could they even consider that?

“The mages are probably already dead,” Alistair muttered, drawing Tsii’s incredulous glare. “Any abominations remaining in there must be dealt with no matter what.”

“The situation is dire,” the Templar grunted, folding his arms and causing his armour to clink noisily. “There is no alternative – everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again.”

“The mages are not defenceless,” Tsii insisted. “Some must still live.”

“If any are still alive, the Maker Himself has shielded them. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find…nothing.”

“But it was you that shut them all in!” Tsii snarled. The Templar glared down at her.

“And what was I to do?” he demanded. “Leave the door open as the abominations poured out?”

“He… he’s right,” Alistair butted in so helpfully. “All the Circles have doors like these, to prevent abominations from…getting loose.”

The Templar looked over her shoulder at the blonde, finally turning back to her small form.

“Denerim must have received our message,” he said. “It cannot be much longer.”

“There is still so much going on that’s unexplained,” Tsii pointed out. The Templar gave an almost unnoticeable shrug.

“I too would like to know how this started,” he admitted. Tsii leaped on the chance.

“Then let me investigate the tower and see what can be done.”

The Templar looked her and her companions over for a long moment, giving her a pointed look.

“You must face and slaughter the abominations to get to the bottom of this,” he warned her. “Are you sure you can handle them?”

Tsii lifted her head.

“I must try. It is the right thing to do.”

The Templar looked at her for a long time, expression unreadable.

“A word of caution…once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof it is safe, and I will only believe it is safe if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen…” he sighed. “Then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed. May Andraste lend you her courage, whatever you decide.”

Tsii nodded sharply, giving her companions a final sharp look before she entered, and held her breath as two Templars slowly ground the gigantic doors shut behind them with a colossal thud.

It was too quiet once the doors were sealed, the musk of books and tang of magic hanging in the air, and Tsii drew her bow warily, unsure what to expect. A roar echoed out ahead of them before they could glance into the first room, accompanied by a high pitched scream, and with a quick glance towards her team, she set off at a sprint.

The room they had entered contained a group of children huddled in a corner, protected by two mages, and facing down a boiling, roaring rage demon was an oddly familiar grey haired figure.

Spinning her staff deftly, the woman shot a cone of ice at the demon as it charged, freezing it so thoroughly that when she sent a jolt of lightning towards its prone form, it simply shattered into nothing.

The mage released a breath, turning to check on the children before turning her gaze on Tsii.

“It’s you!” she gasped, the wrinkles on her forehead deepening in her surprise. Tsii finally managed to place her as a mage she had met at Ostagar…her name escaped the elf, though. The mage straightened, clutching her staff tighter and looking at the smaller woman with a mixture of wariness and warning.

“No…” she said softly. “Come no further. Grey Warden or no, I will strike you down where you stand!”

“Wynne,” Tsii murmured, finally placing the elderly woman’s name. “What are you doing here?”

Wynne’s grip loosened on her staff, looking her carefully up and down as though she may have been a demon in disguise.

“I am a mage of the Circle,” she said somewhat proudly. “More importantly, why are you here? The Templars would not let just anyone by.”

Tsii looked about, the small, robed children looked terrified, unprepared for the horrors they were likely facing. The mages herding them were similarly shell-shocked, huddled around them protectively, like human shields.

“I came here seeking the help of the mages,” she explained. Wynne sighed tiredly.

“And you were told that the Circle was in no shape to help you, I suppose,” she muttered. “So why did the Templars let you in? Do they plan to attack the tower now?”

“Don’t worry, the Right of Annulment has not arrived yet.”

“They sent for it then,” Wynne said softly, impressively composed with the potential of the Circle’s total annihilation. “I feared they might have. What else could they do?” She looked back at the frightened mages in the corner, brows drawn together. “So Greagior thinks the Circle is beyond hope. He probably assumes we are all dead. They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived.” She glanced back at Tsii. “If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them.”

“What happened?” Tsii wondered aloud. Wynne pressed her thin lips together, exhaling through her nose.

“Let it suffice to say that we had something of a revolt on our hands,” she said rather cattily. “Led by a mage named Uldred. When he returned from the battle at Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle. As you can see, it didn’t work out as he had planned. I don’t know what became of Uldred, but I am certain all this is his doing.” Her lip curled in distaste. “I will not lose the Circle to one man’s pride and stupidity.”

There was something disconcerting about her quiet anger, the way she growled out the name. Tsii didn’t remember an “Uldred” from Ostagar, but there had been many mages caught up in rituals which she hadn’t been permitted to watch. She wondered how they escaped.

“I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower,” Wynne continued, gesturing to the swirling wall of magic covering a doorway. “So nothing from inside could hurt the children. You will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you will join with me to save this Circle.”

Well, that was her intention in the first place…

“I will help,” she said simply. A weight seemed to lift from Wynne’s drooping shoulders. She sighed, a small, kind smile curling her lips.

“Once Greagior sees that we have made the tower safe, I trust that he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable,” she said, as though trying to convince herself of it. Tsii nodded slowly.

“Greagior will only accept it if the First Enchanter says so,” she explained, not overly concerned about showing how little she knew of the Circle. She had already spoken with the woman about the strange concept of locking a bunch of mages in a tower and keeping them there. Wynne drew herself up confidently.

“Then our path is laid out before us. We must save Irving,” she said calmly. Tsii shrugged, glancing towards the rest of the tower.

“Then we should set off immediately.”

There was a scoff behind her, and Tsii followed Wynne’s narrowed eyes to see Morrigan fold her arms, plump upper lip curled and hip cocked out.

“You want us to assist this preachy schoolmistress?” she huffed. “To rescue these pathetic excuses for mages? They allow themselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. Now their masters have chosen death for them, and I say let them have it.”

Tsii cocked an eyebrow, focusing an accusatory stare on the woman.

“You could have been one of them, if things were different,” she pointed out. If not for her mother’s protection and apparent skill in disappearing, Morrigan might have been one of those "pathetic excuses for mages" in need of saving. The human snorted, flicking her hair cattily.

“If that were so, why, I am sure I would have flung myself from the top of this tower years ago. I will allow neither mind nor body to be subjugated in such a dehumanising fashion,” she said proudly. Tsii turned fully, also folding her arms.

“Not everyone is like you,” she said, displeased at having such an argument in front of those cowering children. Morrigan sniffed.

“And that is made abundantly clear,” she said. “Look at how they live, servants of the Chantry. They lack respect for themselves and their power. Why should I respect them?”

“You don’t _have_ to respect them,” Tsii growled, officially sick of her attitude. “Just like you don’t _have_ to be a bitch. They need help and we’re helping them.”

Morrigan fixed her with a firm, cold stare, which Tsii met, unafraid. The human finally scoffed, looking away.

“Have it your way,” she muttered. Tsii considered storming across to her and slapping her across the face, in front of everyone, but inhaled deeply to compose herself, filling her mind with thoughts of vivid green trees and distant calls from beautiful birds. She looked back at Wynne, who turned without a comment, looking back at the mages, who had gravitated towards them.

“Petre, Kinnon,” she said softly to the two taller mages. “Look after the others. I will be back soon.”

A redheaded woman stepped forwards, lifting a hand as though to stop the older woman.

“Wynne…are you sure you’re all right?” she asked in a timid, soft voice. “You were so badly hurt earlier. Maybe I should come along.”

Wynne shook her head.

“The others need your protection more,” she said with a small smile. “I will be alright. Stay here with them…keep them safe, and calm.”

She turned back to Tsii, taking a deep breath. Sickening of the dark, hopeless atmosphere in the room, Tsii shot her a wide, playful grin.

“Try not to throw out your back,” she chirped. Wynne shot her a look that seemed to begin as a glare, but morphed into something like exasperation.

“When that happens, I usually lay about a young upstart with my staff,” she said with a huff. “That gets the blood flowing and works the kinks out of these old joints. If you are ready, then let us do this.”

She strode ahead, striking the ground with her staff and closing her eyes. A delicate, careful hand waved in front of her, and the swirling barrier closing the doorway off faded into oblivion. Tsii looked over her shoulder at Morrigan, who still had her arms folded and mouth twisted like a child denied a sweet.

“Morrigan,” she said sharply. The human looked up with her sharp eyes, almost a glare, and Tsii turned fully.

“Since Wynne knows the tower, it’s better to take her with us. I need you to stay behind and help these mages take care of anything that slips past us.”

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed, her lip curling up further.

“You want me to _protect_ these pathetic, dim-witted sheep?” she demanded incredulously. Tsii folded her arms, a growl rising in her throat.

“Well, it’s either that or sulking in one of the apprentice’s beds until we get back,” she snapped. “Pick one.”

Morrigan stared at her for a long moment, exhaling sharply through her nose.

“As you wish,” she said shortly, tone clipped, and pointedly avoided looking at the frightened mages as she stormed off to one corner of the room, away from them.

With a final, exasperated glance to Wynne, Tsii sighed. She signed up to battle the Blight, not babysit a catty apostate, a smartass Templar and a qunari with the personality of a rock.  


	11. Blissful Ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii, having defeated the Blight and wiped out the darkspawn arrives as Weissaupt to greet an old friend...

Tsii kicked the door to the Templar quarters open furiously, swearing and cursing every demon to ever exist in her native tongue. As though blood mages trying to kill them and then immediately begging for mercy, a mage in a closet giving her a heart attack, a revenant and a fucking desire demon locked in a room… _fantasising_ with a Templar wasn’t enough, they were confronted with sickening, twisted lumps of red matter growing across the walls like a disease, and an abomination lazily watching over the scattered corpses of mages.

The creature turned slowly, tilting its head.

“Oh look. Visitors,” it murmured, voice heavy like a person awoken from a nap. “I’d entertain you but…too much effort involved.”

Tsii huffed, wondering idly how _fucking tall_ the Tower needed to be, and gathered the Fade around herself, preparing.

“Killing demons is enough entertainment for me, thanks,” she said with a playful shrug, the magic glowing in her hands. The abomination swayed sleepily.

“But why?” it whined with a sound something like a yawn. “Aren’t you tired of all the violence in this world? I know I am.” It shifted forwards, tilting its head and looking at her with an eerie intensity in its black eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to just lay down and…forget about all this? Leave it all behind?”

A sudden, almost surprising wave of exhaustion washed over her body, as though she had stayed awake far too late and her body just wanted to sleep.

“Can’t…keep eyes open,” Alistair said sleepily behind her. “Someone…pinch…me.”

Tsii stumbled, looking back, trying to form words, but all that came out was a yawn. Sten was shaking his head, hand loosely wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

“We must stand…and fight…” he growled, voice thick. Wynne shook her head and clutched desperately at her staff, eyes lidded heavily.

“Resist,” she said, almost pleadingly. “You must resist, else we are all lost…”

The demon stepped even closer, voice so comforting…like an elder singing a lullaby…

“Why do you fight? You deserve more…you deserve a rest. The world…will go on without you.”

Tsii reached out hopelessly, mumbling something incomprehensible even to her as Alistair dropped like a sack of potatoes, armour clanging loudly as he hit the ground. Wynne followed, staff clattering away from her open hand, and finally, mumbling quietly in a language she didn’t recognise, Sten collapsed with a thud suiting an ogre falling off a building, and Tsii released a low groan, completely blacking out before she even hit the ground.

 

                                                                                                                               ****

 

Hot, dry air filled Tsii’s lungs.

Her eyes flickered open, beset by light.

She blinked, head swivelling around as she rubbed her temples, uncertain what to make of the multitude of information bombarding all of her senses.

Above her towered a fortress, spire stabbing at the grey…green? Sky.

She recognised it.

Towering pillars stood at either side of her, as though a gateway to the steps leading up to a plateau, and a figure at the top of the stairs, looking down.

She knew him.

Staggering forward, Tsii gazed up at the great doors, worn from time and trial, and yet still holding strong. Emblazoned upon the heavy wood was the Grey Warden heraldry, a griffon upon each door in faded grey.

She stumbled up, grasping the thick stone wall lining the stairs for dear life, dazed as she was confronted by two men – how had she not seen them?

Two Wardens guarded each side of the staircase, one clutching at a staff and the other with a bow slung across his back, and between them, gazing down at her with a serene, proud smile….

“Ah, there you are. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

Duncan’s voice was soft and easy, his smile deepening the lines on his face. He looked happy, comfortable.

It was wrong.

“No,” she said, dazed. “Do you need something from me?”

He had asked for her – another Warden had told her that at the gate. Beyond that…what was she doing?

“This is your first time at Weisshaupt,” he said, gesturing to the great fortress. “Do you like it here?”

Tsii blinked, lips parting. Something felt wrong. There was a familiar pressure against her entire body, but she couldn’t place where she knew it from. Duncan’s smile was so genuine, his eyes so…alive.

“I…don’t know,” she murmured, looking back at the fortress, its sharp…fuzzy? Silhouette cutting into the sky. “Something doesn’t seem right…”

It looked like a painting. It was beautiful, intricately designed and a majestic ode to the world’s defenders…but it didn’t look _real_. It was oddly flat, a perfect painting of a fortress unable to hide the flatness of its parchment. Duncan smiled warmly.

“Everything is as it should be,” he murmured. “We have eradicated the darkspawn, and the world is at peace.”

Tsii’s brow furrowed. She thought back as far as she could, fuzzy images of the hurlocks falling before her leaping to mind…

Why couldn’t she remember any sounds? Smells? Wasn’t there a civil war?

“That’s not right…” Trying to think back was hurting her head, she rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, closing her eyes. “The world is never utterly at peace.”

“But now it is, for the first time in history.” When her eyes were closed, everything was…strange. There was an odd, metallic smell, a crackle in the air of magic… “And you played a part in the making of that history. Do you not remember?”

Tsii opened her eyes, and for the briefest of moment, everything around her looked different. The fortress disappeared, Duncan’s face twisted, and the sky behind him was an eerie yellow-green.

“Vaguely,” she murmured, disoriented. “As though it were a dream.”

Duncan’s proud smile widened.

“It was a triumph for all of us, bringing down the archdemon and setting the underground lairs ablaze.”

Tsii’s brow furrowed. That couldn’t be true, darkspawn filled tunnels stretched all across Thedas, and with a source of prey and a broodmother, they could produce more of the cursed creatures forever.

“That’s not possible,” she said. “You’re hiding something from me.”

Duncan’s face twisted into an ugly scowl without a hint of warning.

“Foolish child,” he spat, voice morphing into something dark and demonic. “I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face! Can you not be content with the peace I offer?”

Tsii stepped back: even this creature which was _not_ Duncan mimicked his voice in a way that sent shivers down her spine. His angry voice made her nervous, she almost wanted to cry.

“You offer complacency, not peace.” She hoped she sounded a lot braver than she felt, as Duncan’s lip curled, baring his teeth.

“It seems only war and death will satisfy you,” he snarled. “So be it! Have your war and your darkspawn! May they be your doom!”

There was no warning before he fell upon her, drawing two blades with a furious roar. She skirted back, yelping and reaching across the Fade…

There was a blinding flash, a deafening crack, and the bear form she had intended was disorienting – far larger than she had intended. She stumbled on her gigantic paws, barely avoiding a slash from Duncan’s short sword and bellowing as an arrow landed firmly in her back.

She whirled quickly, confronted by the two Wardens who had smiled so warmly at her, now snarling as they shot after her. Tsii released an ear-shattering roar which seemed to make the ground itself shudder and caused the Wardens to step back, one of them clutching at his ears.

She went for the mage first, loping towards him with a snarl. She was hit with a blast of cold and winced, but the mage couldn’t get away fast enough, and with a brutal knock straight to the side of his head, he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

As soon as he hit the ground, she jumped up onto her hind legs, trying to ignore the terrified look on the mage’s face and grunting at a bright hit of pain slicing across her rump. She brought down all of her weight onto her front paws, the mage’s head and chest buckling like badly made bread. She turned back around, another swing from Duncan barely missing her muzzle and managing to bloody her thick shoulder.

She wasn’t terribly afraid of his poised swords – her skin was loose and thick, and she _towered_ over him, even on all fours his head only reached her shoulder at best.

Reaching out with her disconcertingly long arms, she swiped powerfully, managing to knock one of the swords out of his hands, copping a slice to her forearm and hearing an arrow whistle past one of her fluffy, round ears.

With a bellow she lifted her other paw, slapping him again and this time rending his armour with a brutal screech of metal. He stumbled back, and another arrow landing in her thick arm didn’t distract her from leaping forward, pushing down on his shoulders with paws the size of his torso, and following him down.

Duncan’s pained cry was smothered by her fur, and she closed her eyes, trying to think about anything but his gurgle when she moved to bite into his throat – sever his jugular – but forgot about her newfound size, and his entire head and some of his torso was enveloped.

She bit down, hot, foul blood filling her mouth, and immediately released, pushing him away to try and forget about what she had just done. Finally she faced the archer, who unloaded another arrow into her shoulder.

She was a little nervous, galloping towards a new arrow which was trained on her eye. She bobbed her head up and down, eating up the space between them even as the human backed up, his hood dropping back and eyes wide.

She wasted no time, taking another arrow nerve-wrackingly close to her face and seizing him around the waist with her jaws. He _screamed_ as she shook him back and forth, the holes her fangs pierced into his torso ripping wider and wider. He beat at her head with his fists uselessly, but she kept shaking, kept tearing until he went silent, and limp.

She bit down a little harder, waiting to see if he was faking, and finally dropped him.

In a flash of light, a pedestal rose from the ground where Duncan had been waiting, surrounded by some kind of rune which she didn’t recognise, and Tsii looked about, trying to gain her bearings. There was only one place where her magic was so powerful, and it was the Fade. How could she have entered the Fade? She remembered an abomination casting its magic, and her collapsing, but…

She released the spell, stumbling and almost falling at the sudden change in stature. There was only one thing to do now: try to escape. She placed both hands upon the pedestal, closed her eyes, and the breath was knocked out of her body, a low whisper of magic echoing in her ears.


	12. Blissful Ignorance II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After making camp for the night, the Sten, Ashaad and Karashok are met with a guest.

“Shanedan,” The Sten said, looking up from the campfire he was constructing. The Warden stood before him, the air crackling in the way it did after a spell had been released, and the Karashok spoke from where he lounged on the ground.

“Who are you talking to?”

 The Ashaad looked over at the Karashok.

“Don’t bother the Sten,” he commanded. “Isn’t it your turn to cook?”

“Cook what?” the Karashok said. “There’s no food in this miserable, frozen country.”

The Sten, too missed the warmth of Seheron, the order that was sorely lacking in the human country of Ferelden. He stood.

“Parshaara!” he declared. “We have a guest. Make room at the fire.”

The Warden spoke, always full of questions.

“Who are these people?” she asked. The Sten crouched again to tend to the budding flame.

“They are Beresaad, of course. My brothers.”

The Karashok spoke distastefully, looking at the Warden.

“Who is that little thing you are speaking to?” he asked. “Has it seen darkspawn?”

The Sten looked at the Karashok with ire, and the Ashaad chastised him.

“Don’t interrupt the Sten, Karashok,” he commanded, and the Sten would have reprimanded him more severely under normal circumstances.

“We’ve been days in this place,” he continued. “There’s no sign of any threat. The Arishok’s report was wrong. Can we not go home?”

The Ashaad denied him and he sighed petulantly, the Warden peering at the Sten as she spoke again.

“We need to go, Sten; there’s a demon waiting for us,” she said, her tone commanding.

“Let it wait,” he responded shortly. The Ashaad looked up at the Warden.

“Feed it the Karashok’s cooking. That should end it,” he said. The Karashok looked over with a scowl.

“Better yet, feed it the Ashaad. That would take care of it _and_ do us a favour.”

The Sten gave them one more almost fond look, before looking back at the Warden.

“This is a dream,” he stated. “I’m not a fool, Warden.” He nodded at the Karashok lounging on the ground. “I remember seeing the Karashok there have his head torn off.”

“Well, at least it’s not a great loss,” the Ashaad spoke up, and the Karashok squinted at him.

“You are so entertaining, kadan. You should perform in the square with the other trained monkeys. We could throw you peanuts.”

“It’s a dream,” the Sten noted. “But it’s a good dream.”

The Warden tilted her head, a determined, yet tired look about her. She had been in a few fights since he last saw her – probably many.

“This is a cage,” she said. “Just like Lothering.”

The Sten sighed, looking about them.

“Here, or Lothering, or Orlais, it’s all the same. Far from home,” he said. “One place is no better than any other.”

“Soldiers of the Beresaad don’t waste time dreaming,” the Warden responded firmly, and he respected her for not rolling over, shrinking away from his firm gaze.

“No, they don’t,” he said. “But I am no longer of the Beresaad. I am no one.”

There was no empathy or fake sorrow on the Warden’s face, and her voice was firm, commanding.

“You gave your word to aid me,” she reminded him, and he sighed.

“I did.”

The Karashok was the first to stand, the Ashaad following amazedly.

“You can’t abandon your post,” the Ashaad said in shock, as though he couldn’t believe the Sten would disobey orders.

“Stand aside,” he commanded. “I would hate to see you all die again.”

The Ashaad was quiet, looking betrayed, while the Karashok shouted, “No! We won’t let you leave us again!”

They leapt to the attack and the Sten drew his sword, disappointed. The Warden changed quicker than it took his eyes to adjust, leaping onto the Ashaad in the form of a great bear. He bellowed in pain, in a way that made the Sten’s skin crawl.

The Ashaad was dying, and the Karashok followed when the Sten removed his head. He looked down at the bodies for a long moment, as the Warden shifted her form back to what was normal.

“And yet this gives me no peace,” he pondered. The deep gashes across the Ashaad’s chest bled black, his armour shredded by the Warden’s formidable claws, and the Karashok laid in a slowly growing puddle of the liquid leaking from his stump of a neck.

“I wish to leave this place,” he decided, before a magical tingling erupted along every inch of his armoured skin. He glanced about furiously, searching for a source of the spell.

“No!” he roared. “More trickery? What is happening?”

The Sten felt like he was falling, a cloud falling over his senses, and when the cloud closed, he felt nothing.


	13. Blissful Ignorance III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend comes to visit Alistair and finally meets his sister, but starts acting a little odd...
> 
>  
> 
> It's not much, but this chapter is dedicated to Stefan Karl Stefansson.

Alistair grinned as the door opened to reveal Tsii.

“Hey!” he called happily. “It’s great to see you again. I was just thinking about you…isn’t this a marvellous coincidence?” He gestured to his beloved sister. “This is my sister, Goldanna. These are her children, and there’s more about somewhere. We’re one big happy family, at long last!”

Goldanna offered the elf a kind, welcoming smile from behind a counter, but Tsii spoke up.

“Get away from them, Alistair,” she said firmly. “This is a trick.” Her voice was hard, sour. It sounded like she had been in a fight. For a moment she was in stark outline against Goldanna’s wooden wall, something…not quite right about the way her dark hair shone in the firelight.

“What are you talking about?” he asked confusedly. Tsii opened her small mouth, and Goldanna spoke up, skirting around the counter to stand in front of the small elf.

“Well, Alistair, is your friend staying for supper?” she asked with a wide smile. Tsii scowled in return and he wished she would smile a little more. She had the brightest, sweetest smile when she chose to use it. He gasped excitedly

“Say you’ll stay,” he pleaded, clasping his hands together. “Goldanna’s a great cook. Maybe she’ll make her mince pie. You can, can’t you?”

Goldanna flashed him one of her big, genuine smiles.

“Of course, dear brother,” she murmured. “Anything for you.”

Alistair laughed with joy, turning back to Tsii. Her pretty elven face was still twisted into a displeased scowl, and her bow was slung across her back, some of the arrows in her quiver sporting bloodied tips.

“She’s just a demon in disguise,” she said darkly. “Don’t believe any of this.”

Alistair’s brow furrowed. Why was she being so cruel to his sister? Tsii must have had trouble from the guards on the way through Denerim…or maybe she was just hungry!

“How can you say that about Goldanna? She’s…she’s the soul of goodness!” He folded his arms, pouting down at her. “You’re acting _really_ strangely.”

Tsii sighed softly and stepped forward, laying both of her small hands on his cheeks to focus his gaze on her. He flinched – her hands were so cold! – But she held him firm, black eyes staring into his.

“Think about this,” she said gently. “And how you got here. Think carefully.”

His cheeks heated up at her intense stare, her small, calloused fingers, hard against his face.

“All right,” he sighed. “If it makes you happy…”

He looked down at her, focusing on the dulled gold pigment laid into her face, the bright contrast against her light brown skin. Her long, thick lashes fluttering around her shining black eyes. She was solid and dark in the warm light of the fireplace, as though there was an emphasis on her outline where everything else was blurred.

“I…” he huffed closing his eyes. “It’s a little fuzzy…that’s strange…” He remembered meeting Goldanna’s children, their little bodies jumping up and clambering to hug him…he remembered sitting with them all for dinner, enjoying mince pie and laughing about something he didn’t remember.

Before that though…how did he get to her? When did he part with Tsii and meet his beloved family?

“Alistair,” Goldanna called sweetly, the smell of strong black tea wafting to his nose. “Come and have some tea.”

He furrowed his brow, not looking at his sister. As he thought back, flashes of cloudy memory came to him.

“No, wait…I remember…a tower….” The shadow of the great tower cutting into the sky, covering the land as Tsii snapped at a lyrium-addled Templar. “The Circle,” he managed. “It was under attack…there were demons…” He opened his eyes, looking back at Tsii’s young face. “That’s all I remember.”

“That’s because it all happened,” Tsii said softly, with her almost-Ander accent twisting her words. She squeezed his face a little. “It’s still happening.”

A low, solemn breath escaped him.

“A-are you saying…” he trailed off, looking up at the fuzzy walls, the strangely moving firelight, the children who had stopped playing and were now watching him with dark expressions. “This…this is a dream? But it’s so real…”

“Of course it’s real!” Goldanna’s voice cut though his thoughts and he jerked to look at her, heart in his throat. “Now wash up before supper and I–”

“Something doesn’t feel quite right here,” he interrupted, he couldn’t let himself be distracted by her friendly words. “I…think I have to go…get some fresh air.”

Her hands still hovering beside his face, Tsii offered him a sad smile.

“She isn’t your sister, Alistair,” she said softly. She sounded sad, had something happened? He shook his head.

“She is…but she isn’t…”

“No!” A sudden demonic roar made the very world around them shudder, and Tsii jumped away from his stunned form, swinging her bow into her hands without missing a beat.

“He is _ours_ ,” Goldanna snarled. “And I’d rather see him _dead_ than free!”

She drew a dagger from her dress, prowling towards him, and an arrow hit her, between her collarbones. She screamed, an inhuman, dark sound which made Alistair shudder from where he was, completely frozen, and another arrow was quickly released into her throat.

From his sides, Goldanna’s sweet, darling children had morphed into skeletal beasts with black, empty eye sockets and charged Tsii with daggers as well, but their small size and light bodies worked against them as Tsii kicked one back, unloading an arrow into its chest and knocking the other one unconscious with a well-placed kick.

Tsii sighed raggedly, drawing a short knife sheathed on her arm to slit what remained of their throats and retrieve her arrows. She returned to him, splattered in inky black blood, and he still couldn’t find it in himself to move, simply staring down at Goldanna’s blood-splattered form.

“Goldanna?” he whispered dumbly, finally able to look back at Tsii. “I can’t believe it. How did I not see this earlier?”

Her smile was sympathetic, and she gestured around them.

“You’re in the Fade,” she explained. “It’s not like the real world.”

He pressed his lips together, clearing his throat.

“Yes…uh, well.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Try not to tell everyone how easily fooled I was.”

A fuzz suddenly surrounded his vision, and he rubbed his eyes to try and remove it. He felt like he was floating, Tsii’s small body slowly fading away.

“Are we going now?” He asked confusedly. “Wait, where are you going? What’s happening to me? Heeeeeey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stefan Karl Stefansson, best known for his role as Robbie Rotten in Lazytown, passed away from bile duct cancer today. I want to draw attention to him, not because he was a great meme, but a genuinely amazing person, who stayed positive right up to the end. Cancer is a horrible way to go, but he endured it with grace, and while it defeated his body, his heart remained strong.   
> I encourage people to donate to cancer foundations or his family, and to not mourn his death, but celebrate his life.


	14. Blissful Ignorance IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After watching her beloved students die, Wynne's mourning is interrupted by a Warden's harsh presence.

Wynne sighed, kneeling in their blood, looking over her failure.

“Maker forgive me,” she whispered. “I failed them all. They died and I did not stop it.”

“But they’re not dead yet.” The voice was sudden and somewhat familiar, cutting through the dead silence of the room. “The Circle can still be saved.”

“What about all this?” she demanded, gesturing to the innocents sprawled before her. “How can you say that when you are faced with this? Death. Can you not see it? It’s all around us.”

The elf, the Warden said something else, but Wynne ignored it, stroking young Alynne’s hair.

“Why was I spared, if not to help them?” she wondered. “What use is my life now that I have failed in the task that was given to me?” She closed her eyes. The Maker was cruel. “Leave me to my grief. I shall bury their bones, scatter their ashes to the four winds, and mourn their passing till I too am dead.”

Tsii spoke up again, loudly and firmly.

“You have to fight this feeling, whatever it is,” she said. Wynne stood, staring her down. Could the elf not leave her to her grief? Why did she insist on prolonging her pain?

“Your blatant disregard for the souls of the dead strikes me as being utterly inappropriate,” she hissed. The girl stared back at her without fear, and Wynne faltered a little. She looked like an apprentice gathering herself up for her harrowing – not a Grey Warden.

“They’re not dead yet, this is a trick,” she insisted. Wynne squinted at her. Not dead yet? Was she _blind_? Did she not see the carnage before her?

“I do not know what you are trying to tell me,” she said softly, feeling her years in her aching bones and papery voice. “Why must you make this more painful? And where were you when this happened? I trusted you as an ally and you were nowhere to be found.”

Tsii ignored her accusation, looking her dead in the eye. It was somewhat comforting to focus on her soft face, young cheeks which were still a little plump from childhood.

“I am the only thing that’s real,” she said firmly. “Ignore everything else.”

Wynne sighed, lifting a hand to her head.

“I do not know what this will accomplish, but I will do this, if it will satisfy you.”

She peered at the elf, turning her focus onto the simple design of her vallaslin. It was hard, her mind seemed foggy and muddled.

“It is…difficult to focus,” she admitted. “It feels as though something is…stopping me from concentrating. I have never had so much trouble…” She rubbed her eyes. “Perhaps some time away from this place will help me think clearly.”

A rustle from the mages made her whirl, watching in horror as Arlan rose, his blood-clumped hair swaying around his face and his dead, sunken eyes fixing on her as he lifted his bloodstained hands.

“Don’t leave us, Wynne,” he cooed, swaying as the purple bitemark on his throat oozed blood. “We don’t want to be alone.”

She had never seen such a thing, jumping back as her heart lurched.

“Dear Maker!” she cried. “Stay away, foul creature!”

Tsii stood firm, looking at the monsters that were once her responsibility bravely.

“You have to defeat them to leave,” she said shortly, glancing at Wynne. Her black eyes were sympathetic, and Wynne found comfort in her confident stance.

“Stay, Wynne,” Arlan said, taking a staggering step towards her. “Sleep soundly in the comforting embrace of the earth. Do not fight it. You belong here, with us.” He reached out to her, his hand pale and thin, and she stepped back. She wanted so badly to lay with them all and perish, her purpose taken away and no more reason to live, but had they truly been taken from her?

“N-no,” she said softly. “Not yet. My task is not yet done…it is not time yet.”

Tsii smiled at her brightly, and Wynne felt her cast, shift into the form of a gigantic bear.

“Come…” Arlan pleaded, Willis and Viola rising behind him with malicious grins which tore at her thundering heart. “Come away to your rest…”

The Warden’s roar shook her from her stupor, the bear batting down Arlan with a monstrous paw, and she squeezed her eyes tightly, fighting tears.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, swinging her staff from her back and encasing Willis in a tomb of ice. She cast missiles at Viola, tears unrestrained as they ran down her cheeks, even if they were demons, they wore faces of those she loved. Tsii took over, shattering Willis’ tomb, and his body to pieces, and taking Viola in her jaws, throwing her with a powerful jerk of her gigantic neck. Viola sailed off into the distance with a scream, through the wall of the room, disappearing.

Tsii blocked Wynne’s view – presumably deliberately, as she silenced Arlan’s begging, and she was grateful she didn’t have to see him die again, even as he screamed her name.

There was sudden, thick silence. Tsii turned to her, and she didn’t hide, wearing her grief proudly in the form of bloodshot eyes and tears trailing down her face. The bear looked somewhat sorrowful, releasing her spell, and looking up at her.

“I’m sorry you had to see,” she said simply, not overly sympathetic. Wynne appreciated it. She shook her head, releasing a ragged breath.

“It’s over,” she forced out. Thank the Maker for you.” She opened her eyes to see the small elf fading away in a cloud of white. “Wait, what’s happening?” She felt the magic swirling around them, watched Tsii slowly disappear. “Where are you going?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one feels off, Wynne isn't a character I ever recruit and she's really hard to write...


	15. A rude awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no greater crime than imprisoning a Kwani. Tsii takes some well-deserved revenge.

Tsii stood tall, armed with her new powers and ready to shed some blood in revenge for what Sloth had done to her and her companions.

“What do we have here?” it purred. “A rebellious minion? An escaped slave?” It laughed, tilting its long head. “My, my…but you do have some gall. But playtime is over. You all have to go back now.”

A whirr of magic alerted Tsii to her companions fading into existence behind her, disoriented and bewildered. Sloth seemed to look out over them, its voice sleepy and movements lethargic.

“If you go back quietly, I’ll do better this time,” it said lazily. “I’ll make you much happier.”

Tsii grit her teeth. She didn’t make a three week trek across blighted lands, go through the Joining and survive Ostagar just for the Blight to take Ferelden while she was busy dreaming!

“ _The Kwani were made to be free,_ ” she said in her native tongue. She would not sit in a gilded cage until her body rotted. Sloth sighed with exhaustion.

“I made you happy and safe. I gave you peace. I did my best for you and you say you want to leave? Can’t you think about someone other than yourself? I’m hurt,” it rumbled. “So very…very hurt.”

Tsii spat at its hovering feet defiantly.

“I’ll take my chances. I’ll do nothing you say,” she snarled. Sloth appeared to look down at its feet, eyes covered by its long cowl, and it tilted its head, skeletal teeth gnashing.

“You wish to battle me?” It growled, a low rumble which echoed through the Fade and anger rose in its sleepy voice. “So be it…you will learn to bow to your betters, mortal!”

She was blown back by a blast of magic as Sloth transformed, into the gigantic form of an ogre, stomping its feet and bellowing. Tsii was unafraid, twisting the fade and turning to stone. She enjoyed feeling no pain as one of Sten’s blows clipped her calf, and silently grappled with the ogre to keep it from using its hands. Up close, its face was ugly, fangs almost too big to fit in its mouth bared when it roared, spittle flying into Tsii’s rocky face.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t twist her face in disgust, but _could_ bash her head into its chin, a satisfying pop and howl of pain either signifying that she had dislocated its jaw, or that one of her companions had landed a solid hit.

After a long moment, Tsii felt the fade twist and the ogre’s head was covered in a ball of frost. It stepped back, making Alistair yelp, and Tsii took the chance to slam her fists down onto its bent leg, its knee shattering beneath her solid hands. It may have roared if its head were bare, might have bellowed as Alistair took the chance to bury his sword deep inside it.

Tsii took her chance, slamming her fist into where the monster’s ribcage must have been, and being rewarded as it flew backwards, morphing and twisting into a mass of living fire.

“Hatred! Burning!” it roared, voice ragged and nightmarish. “It _feeds_ me!”

Tsii was even more grateful for her lack of pain when a burst of flame deflected by Alistair’s shield smothered her right leg, heating her stone until it was red. Wynne’s second ice blast froze the entire demon, and Sten drove his gigantic sword straight through its middle, drawing it out and backing away as Alistair charged it with his shield outstretched.

The entire creature shattered, but a bright white light glowed from inside it, and it roared, the twisted, fleshy form of an abomination taking over.

“I am your _greatest_ nightmare!”

Alistair seemed somewhat relieved, facing a foe he was familiar with, and knocked one of its spindly arms away with his shield, slashing at its lumpy body. Sten’s sword appeared from behind it, tip poking through its body, and a warm, gentle wave of magic settled over Tsii like a hug. When Sten and Alistair were both a safe distance away, she slammed a foot down onto to the abomination, a terrible _crunch_ echoing around them. It screamed, and another burst of light sent Tsii flying, her gigantic, rocky body colliding with the ground and making the Fade itself shudder.

Rocking back and forth, Tsii felt like a beetle stuck on its round back, not even able to scream in frustration as her heavy, stiff body was defeated by itself. Sten released a pained bellow and Tsii gave up on getting up, releasing the form to leap up to her feet.

She swore loudly in her native tongue, catching the abomination’s attention, and it was treated to an arrow landing in its face before a fireball slammed into its body. It collapsed, the now-familiar ball of light spilling out, and a shade crawling from it.

“I command the shadows of your darkest dreams!” it snarled, voice deeper and rough. Another well-placed arrow landed in the side of its hunched head, and Tsii checked on Sten, who had been completely knocked unconscious, sprawled out on the ground like a discarded doll. Ensuring that she was between his vulnerable body and the shade, she continued unloading arrows, Alistair taking a hard slash from the creature’s claws but bashing it with his sword and stunning it for long enough for Wynne to set it on fire.

It screamed, thin arms waving around comically, and it was an awful lot less funny when one of its wild swings hit Alistair. He shouted, and Tsii dove in, shifting into her familiar bear form and barrelling into the creature. She felt its magic, it burned her skin but she ignored it, enveloping its head in her jaws and biting down, jerking her head in an attempt to tear its head off. She was thrown back as it transformed again, and was exhausted, barely able to drag herself to her feet. Alistair looked even worse, drenched in sweat and blood, he looked like he was about to pass out as he ducked behind his shield to protect himself from a stream of magic.

He was too weak to jump out of the way of a swing from its long arm, and it knocked him onto his back with a groan, tired body finally giving out.

Tsii roared to grab the creature’s attention and it snarled in response.

“No more games!” it bellowed. “Face me and die!”

She charged, a gentle layer of warmth settling against her skin as Wynne laid another barrier over her, and she leaped, the full weight of her body slamming into its long, thin form and throwing it to the ground. It bellowed, fire shooting along her back and the scent of singed fur filled her sensitive nostrils as she tore at the shapes covering its body. It looked like some kind of armour, but tore like flesh and she kept ripping, pulling it open to bare what looked like a skeleton and ducking her head in to tear chunks out with her powerful jaws.

She kept tearing, kept pulling pieces out of it until it stopped struggling and dropped its head with a low gurgle. Tsii wasted no time, ignoring the Fade pedestal rising a few steps over, leaping off the demon’s limp form and shifting back to her own, comfortable shape.

She hurried over to Alistair’s prone form, dropping to her knees and looking him over. She glanced over to Sten, murmuring a thanks as a bright blue light poured from Wynne’s small, frail hands into his body.

She looked back to Alistair, checking him over for any outright injuries. He looked okay, it seemed as though he had smacked his head against the ground and nearly impaled himself on his sword when he collapsed, but as Wynne wandered over, Sten holding his head painfully behind her, she shifted back to give the woman room.

Wynne also settled onto her knees, placing a hand on the Warden’s forehead and warping the Fade around them to pump healing magic into him.

After a moment he groaned, lifting a gauntleted hand to his forehead. He looked sore, but he was alive. She smiled down at him and he responded with a lopsided, pained grin.

“You defeated the demon.” The soft, wavering voice sounded behind her, and Tsii turned to Niall, rising to meet him. He was looking down at Sloth, soft face twisted into shock.

“I never thought…” he breathed. “I never expected you to free yourself, to free us both.”

Tsii smiled at him proudly, ready to return to wakefulness and bring her new friend to safety. Niall, however, sighed miserably, looking up at her.

“When you return…take the Litany of Adralla from my…” he squeezed his eyes shut, as though it was painful to say. “Body. It will protect you from the worst of the blood magic.”

Tsii’s face dropped.

“What? What do you mean, your body?”

Niall shook his head sadly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I cannot go with you,” he said softly. “I have been here far too long. For you it will have been an afternoon’s nap. Your body won’t have wasted away in the real world while your spirit lay in the hands of a demon.” His voice cracked, and Tsii reached out thoughtlessly, a pain in her chest driving her to help him. “Every minute I was here, the sloth demon was feeding off of me, using my life to fuel the nightmares of this realm. There is so little of me left…I was never meant to save the Circle, or…survive its troubles. I am dying. It is as simple as that.”

Tsii dropped her hand, determination bubbling up in her chest.

“You’re not dying!” she snarled. “I can heal you!”

Niall smiled sadly, shaking his head, and her heart sank.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “But it is too late for me. I do not fear what may come. They say we return to the Maker in death, and…that isn’t such a terrible thing…My only regret is that I could not save the circle. But you…” He stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder and offered her a hopeful smile. “You can. Take the Litany off my body, when you return. It is important!”

Tsii nodded gravely.

“I will.”

He sighed again, hand slipping off the pauldron protecting her shoulder.

“I’m not…a hero,” he murmured. “Perhaps trying to be one was foolish.”

Grasping his wrist firmly, Tsii looked at the human with as much hope as she could muster.

“Ordinary people can do great things when they have to,” she whispered. Nobody was born a hero, they were made heroes by their own efforts. Niall laughed grimly.

“Dark times, greater acts of heroism, eh?” he chuckled, meeting her eyes bravely. “You may be right. Before I was taken to the Circle, my mother said I was meant for greatness, that I would be more than my ancestors could have ever dreamed. I hope I haven’t disappointed her.”

“You didn’t, Niall,” she insisted. He smiled wider, ducking his head to hide the tears gathering in his eyes.

“It is time for us both to be on our way,” he said, inhaling deeply to calm himself. “Remember the Litany of Adralla. The Circle is all that matters now.” He squeezed her shoulder, finally releasing her and pulling his hand out of her grip. “Thank you and goodbye…friend.”

Tsii dropped her hand, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat and nodding. She stepped back gesturing for her companions to follow her to the Fade pedestal, looking back at the young mage after Wynne had urged Sten and Alistair through.

“Niall,” she called out. He lifted his head hopelessly, a question in her eyes. “I will find your mother,” she insisted. “I will tell her that you were a hero.”

Accepting his thankful smile, Tsii turned back to the Fade pedestal and reached out, ready to return to the Circle.


	16. Confronting Uldred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the Fade, the Fuck Shit up Squad are ready to confront Uldred and save the Circle.

Tsii stormed into the Harrowing chamber furiously, the door slamming against the wall. She was so fucking sick of helping people only to be insulted and told she was wrong or young or stupid. She paused at the top of the stairs, watching an abomination rise in a circle of two more abominations and an old, bald mage with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

They all turned to the elf who had stormed up the stairs, and with the line of mages magically bound all staring at her as well, she suddenly felt awfully small, blood draining from her face.

“Ah, look what we have here,” the bald mage purred, a sly smirk crawling onto his face like a creeping spider. “An intruder. Care to join in our…revels?”

Tsii didn’t know what to say. The twisted, malformed mages peered at her with the darkness of their resident demons in their eyes, their presumed leader looking on with manic glee as she glanced around.

“I’m quite impressed you’re alive,” the mage purred, face dropping like a clear day being overcome by a storm. “Unfortunately that must mean you killed my servants.”

Shifting back again to his unsettling smile, he shrugged.

“Ah, well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the _terrible_ responsibility of independence.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Tsii slipped into her tried and true method of dealing with impossible situations.

“Aw,” she whined condescendingly, tilting her head and jutting her lower lip out. “I’m sorry. Are you upset I killed your lackeys?”

She was a little dismayed that he didn’t respond with an irritated snap, instead smiling eerily.

“We needn’t fixate on who killed whom,” he chuckled lowly. “That doesn’t help our relationship.”

Mulling over her options, Tsii tried a different strategy, skin crawling at the man’s gaze.

“Those blood mages and abominations got what they deserved,” she purred, flashing a grin. She was offered a little victory in the flash of anger across his face, but was quickly distracted.

“A mage is but the larval form of something greater,” he said lowly, spreading his arms out to encompass everyone in the room. “Your Chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have truly reached our full potential! Look at them.”

He whirled, throwing his hands up in something like despair as he gazed at his prisoners.

“The Chantry has them convinced,” he lamented. “They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something glorious!”

With a rustle of robes and the harsh smack of her staff against the ground, Wynne stormed past the elf furiously.

“You’re mad!” she spat, fury crackling along her papery skin like lightning. “There’s nothing glorious about what you’ve become, Uldred!”

“Uldred?” The man looked over his shoulder curiously, smile creeping back onto his face as he slowly turned, speaking matter-of-factly. “He is gone. I am Uldred and yet not Uldred. I am more than he was.”

He twisted unnaturally, tilting his head and rolling his shoulders in eerie, snakelike movements.

“I could give you this gift, Wynne,” he purred, turning his gaze onto Tsii. “You and your little murderess of a friend. It would be so much easier if you just accepted it.” He sighed. “But some people can be so stubborn…”

Tsii forced a smirk onto her face, uncomfortable under his dark gaze. She had no fear of sharing her body with a spirit, had she not left her clan, it would have been her fate as the next elder. But a demon?

She restrained a shudder. She didn’t want to think about that.

“I’m glad so many of them stood up to you.” She managed the condescending, sweet tone she so loved, and Uldred (or not Uldred, she supposed) frowned.

“And what good did that do?” he huffed. “I still won.”

A sudden shift in his persona struck her again, like a wild animal.

“Wait…” he said slowly, with something that sounded a _little_ like sarcasm. “What do we have here?”

He gasped dramatically, slithering over to a hunched form, head hung and face covered by a tangle of grey. His hands were bound by some invisible source above his head, and Uldred towered over his kneeling body.

“Why, it’s the First Enchanter,” he gasped, as though he hadn’t realised that the older man might have known Wynne. “Come say hello to your dear teacher, Irving!”

Irving groaned softly, a long dribble of bloody spit dripping down from behind his beard, and Uldred grinned widely.

“Don’t mind the blood,” he chirped. “He’s had a…hard day.”

Wynne spoke up, voice strangled and shocked. She sounded like she was going to faint.

“What have you done to him?!” she demanded. The First Enchanter groaned again, lifting his head to reveal his tired brown eyes, his beard splattered with blood.

“Stop him…” he managed to force out in a weak, trembling voice. “He…is building an army. He will…destroy the Templars and…”

Uldred cut him off with a sickeningly sweet smile, tilting the old man’s head up a little to look into his eyes.

“You’re a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that,” he chuckled, a flash of teeth betraying his frighteningly unhinged mind. He glanced at Tsii as though it was a joke. “And here I thought he was starting to turn.”

A rasping cough racked the old man’s body, more blood leaking into his grey beard.

“Never,” he croaked. Uldred dropped his face with a flourish, shrugging.

“That’s enough out of you, Irving,” he said shortly. “He’ll serve me, eventually. As will you…”

The predatory look he had set on her as he said that made her squirm. It was a kind of deranged hunger, like he had a stack of gold the size of a dragon dropped in front of him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she managed, hoping she sounded brave. Uldred’s grin seemed to widen ever more, like some horrific child’s drawing.

“Killing you would be _such_ a waste,” he purred in a tone that she guessed was supposed to be enticing. “Your raw potential, with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable.” He chuckled lowly. “I can do that – I can give you power, and a new life.”

Tsii didn’t even have to think about her answer, cocking her hip out and folding her arms to hide the fact that bile had risen in her throat.

“I’m sorry, love,” she said sweetly. “I can’t let you do that.”

Uldred’s expression dropped into a scowl, deep lines cutting into his face.

“I don’t think your opinion matters,” he sniffed. “That is what I’ve decided, and that is what will be done. Fight, if you must. It will just make my victory all the sweeter.”

Tsii had a distinct feeling that the conversation was over when she was thrown back by a colossal blast of magic, confronted by a beast the size of an ogre, covered in jagged violet spikes. It roared, mouth large enough to fit her entire torso into baring gigantic fangs, jagged like broken glass.

Seven beady little eyes blinked individually at her, and the beast roared deafeningly as she crawled backwards, towards the companions who had already leapt into action. Sten thundered past with a guttural battle cry which she never wanted to hear directed at her, and Alistair stopped to pull her to her feet before drawing his sword and following.

Wynne grumbled behind her, something about men needing to think twice before going headlong into battle, and Tsii laughed, leaping forth in her beloved lion form. Sten had wasted no time, charging straight for the demon’s tree trunk of a leg and dodging a swipe of its gigantic claws with a swift grace unfitting for a man of his size.

Alistair and Barkspawn, meanwhile, had taken on all the abominations at once, one alternating between blocking and slashing at the two standing in front of them while the other tore at ankles and snarled ferociously. While they weren’t looking, a third stormed up behind them, bringing its ragged, thin hands together at the wrist, fire brewing in its malformed palms. Tsii snarled, leaping onto the back of the creature and locking her jaws around the back of its head. She preferred the neck, as the lions in the jungle did, but the malformed lumps of flesh coating its shoulders protected the vulnerable area.

The abomination roared, swinging its arms over its shoulders as she scrabbled to hold on, claws gouging deep black streaks into its warped flesh. Long, jagged nails scratched at the thick scruff of her neck, yanking bunches of fur out and making her snarl. There was a sickening crunch as her fangs pierced its skull, hot, metallic blood filling her mouth. It tasted rotten, made her gag, but she squeezed harder – she had seen the spotted lions crush skulls many times, even a turtle’s thick shell was nothing against their jaws.

The abomination started screaming, writhing as its head started to compress, finally giving way with a thick crack. Goo which was once brain matter leaked out like a burst pustule and the arms clawing at her dropped limply, her back stinging from the scratches it had managed to inflict in its frenzy.

She dropped off, accepting Alistair’s quick grin of thanks and having no time to cough up the disgusting mixture coating her tongue as she sprinted, low and fast towards Sten and Uldred.

Sten was ducking under a swipe of the demon’s gigantic fist, and Tsii leaped up to try and climb onto its back. It roared, and there was a burst of magic just as her claws brought her up to its shoulders, the world around them seeming _too real_ as the spell slipped from her grasp, her weak nails scrabbling uselessly, cracking and bending against the demon’s thick, leather skin. It laughed maliciously, kicking its back leg and knocking the wind out of her tiny body as it slammed into her torso.

Breathless and sprawled across the ground, Tsii wheezed, distantly hearing Uldred asking something about a gift.

“Quick!” Wynne shouted from behind her, a layer of warmth covering Tsii’s skin. “He’s doing something to the mages! Use the Litany!”

She lifted her head to see a mage surrounded by light, Uldred’s hand hovering above them and pouring magic into their small, human body. She slung a hand over her shoulder, yanking out the scroll which had been flattened by her fall. She unravelled it, eyes roving across the runes and mouth following so quickly as she heard was a jumble of noise.

A flash of light filled the room, the abominations Alistair was fending off both dropping like discarded dolls and Uldred being knocked back a few steps, nearly crushing Sten beneath his gigantic feet. Tsii took her chance to jump to her feet, slinging her bow into her hands and knocking three arrows at once. All three flew straight and true, impaling the demon in its head and neck, and Alistair called out to her as he charged, shield out.

“Stop showing off!” he demanded, and Tsii laughed breathlessly, watching the green light of healing magic envelop Sten’s body as he got behind the demon distracted by the small human. Sten’s sword disappeared, and Uldred threw its head back with a pained bellow, the sharp point of the colossal greatsword tearing through the leathery skin on its belly.

While it was busy bellowing, Alistair lifted his shield above his head and buried his sword deep into its leg. Apparently even demons in their natural, ugly form needed arteries, because blood squirted out like water from a boto’s blow-hole, showering over Alistair and Barkspawn and creating a great slick puddle beneath his feet. A great ball of fire hit its face and while it yowled, throat bared, Tsii unloaded three more arrows into it, one after the other landing in the vulnerable flesh.

Ever more blood sprayed out from the creature, and it swayed weakly, huge hands going to clutch at the arrows and snapping the thin wooden shafts. It inadvertently pushed the tips of the arrows in deeper, however, and it stumbled back, a low, weak groan rumbling out of its chest before it collapsed.

Tsii stared for a moment, still wheezing before she slung her bow over her back again and trotted over to Alistair, Sten and Barkspawn, high fiving the human, giving the dog a celebratory scratch and offering an unreciprocated smile to the qunari, who had withdrawn his sword and pulled a cloth from his bag, wiping the black blood off it carefully.

Wynne hurried over somewhat slowly, using her staff to help her walk and lowering herself to her knees among the imprisoned mages, who had dropped to the ground. One of them, the one that Uldred had been trying to use magic on, was hugging himself, shaking uncontrollably. Vomit was splattered along his robes and there were tears pouring down his cheeks, the wetness of his face mimicking an oddly damp area of the ground below him.

Wynne offered a hand out to the First Enchanter, checking him over clinically.

“Maker, I’m too old for this,” the man groaned, wincing as she tilted his head to check his neck.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly, fear heavy in her voice. Tsii stepped closer to inspect the old man, long grey hair matching his bloodstained beard fell messily across his face, which bore deep lines, like the grandfathers of her clan.

“I’ve…been better,” he admitted, accepting Wynne’s help to climb to his feet. “But I am thankful to be alive. I suppose that is your doing, isn’t it, Wynne?”

The woman smiled briefly and glanced at Tsii.

“I wasn’t alone,” she pointed out. “I had help.”

Irving’s tired, bloodshot brown eyes shifted over to the elf, who smiled a little awkwardly at his grave expression.

“The Circle owes both of you a debt we will never be able to repay,” he said softly, groaning as he took a shaking step, cradling his ribs. “Come, the Templars await. We shall let them know that the tower is once again ours.”

Tsii nodded, glancing back at her companions, who had both been picking up dropped poultices and coins from the corpse which had once been Uldred, and the smaller of which waved with a sheepish grin.

“Lead on,” she said with a shrug, hands quickly going to support the old man as he stumbled.

“Maker,” he croaked. “I’ll need you to guide me down the stairs…ah, curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower…”

With a concerned glance at Wynne, Tsii wrapped one arm around his thin waist, holding her other hand in front of him, which he placed his frail hand on. His skin felt like paper, cold against hers, and now she was pressed against him she inhaled the curious scent that everyone over sixty seemed to exude.

Their way down the tower was easy, with no more demons to fight. Creeping past Irving’s office, Tsii hoped he didn’t notice that the pretty silver chest in the corner had been shifted when she opened it and taken the treasures within. Corpses littered the floor around them, Wynne rather embarrassingly tripping on one at one point. When they reached the area the old mage had sealed off, they were greeted with tears and hugs, worried proclamations and one mage sobbing into Wynne’s shoulder. Morrigan was still in the corner they had left her in, holding a book which didn’t look like she had turned a single page in, and she snapped it shut, standing to join them.

She didn’t say anything, the hard set to her jaw and way her lips twitched showing her displeasure when they introduced Irving. Further on, they came back to the great doors, which Tsii banged her fist on.

“Who goes?” a wary voice answered them, and as Irving called out that they could open the doors, they shifted, slowly swinging open with a loud creak to reveal every man in the entrance with swords and shields drawn.

Greagoir sighed in some mixture of shock and relief.

“Irving?” he cried, immediately sheathing his weapon. “Maker’s breath, I did not expect to see you alive.”

The mage smiled weakly up at him.

“It is over,” he declared proudly. “Greagoir, Uldred is dead.”

The thankful smile had barely crossed Greagoir’s wrinkled face when a familiar, and _very irritating_ voice piped up.

“Uldred tortured these mages, hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations,” said the Templar they had saved, stepping forward with fearful violence in his eyes, like a cornered animal. “We don’t know how many of them have turned.”

Irving, releasing Tsii to stand on his own, scoffed.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous!” he chastised the young man, who gripped the pommel of his sword like a lifeline.

“Of course he’ll say that!” he snapped, looking pleadingly at Greagoir. “He might be a blood mage! Don’t you know what they did? I won’t let this happen again!”

The older man folded his arms, looking displeased.

“I am the Knight-Commander here,” he pointed out. “Not you.”

Gladly rubbing salt into the curly-haired shit’s wound (who the fuck dismissed someone as being _too young_ to understand something?), Tsii straightened, looking the younger Templar dead in the eye with a burning glare.

“Knight-Commander,” she declared professionally, turning back to Greagoir. “I believe order has been restored to the Circle. All demons and abominations are dead.”

“We will rebuild,” Irving said with finality. “The Circle will go on, and we will learn from this tragedy, and be strengthened by it.”

Greagoir smiled as though they were the closest of friends, nodding respectfully.

“We have won back the tower. I will accept Irving’s assurance that all is well,” he said. The younger Templar shifted forwards again, noticeably avoiding letting Tsii out of his sight.

“But they may have demons within them,” he cried, not even subtly gesturing towards the elf who had done _literally nothing aside from help him_. “Lying dormant…lying in wait!”

“Enough!” Greagoir commanded in a voice that offered no argument. “I have already made my decision.” With a harsh gesture of his hand, the young Templar was dismissed, and as he backed away, staring at Tsii with a look reserved for angry bears or flesh eating maggots, she had to put much effort into restraining herself from punching him. He made it awfully hard to feel bad for him when he was acting like such a shit, and Alistair murmured something along those lines under his breath, while Tsii just smiled sweetly and blew him a kiss.

“Thank you,” Greagoir said, tearing her attention away from his underling. “You have proven yourself a friend of both the Circle, and the Templars.”

Tsii righted herself, gesturing towards the door, and the blighted lands beyond.

“And what about the darkspawn? I require aid,” she reminded him. Saving a bunch of ungrateful sword swingers and getting sucked into the Fade by a creepy demon was fun and all, but she would appreciate getting what she came for. Greagoir gave her a solemn look, lifting one hand as though to calm her for his news.

“I promised you aid, but with the Circle restored, my duty is to watch the mages,” he explained. Before Tsii could even get angry, he continued. “ _They_ are free to help you, however. Speak to them.”

Well she guessed that would work too.

“And what will the Templars do?”

Greagoir looked thoughtfully at the doors, agape and almost welcoming.

“For now, I will have to oversee a sweep of the tower,” he mused. “There may be some survivors and we should do our best to tend to them.” He gave her a polite smile, and a respectful nod. “Please, excuse me. And Irving…it is good to have you back.”

At his heartfelt expression, Irving gave a low chuckle.

“I’m sure we’ll be at each other’s throats again in no time,” he said, not unkindly, watching the Templar turn to rally some men, followed by the conspicuous clinking of his armour. Turning right back to the weathered mage, Tsii waited for him to look at her.

“Here we are,” he sighed, finally turning to her with a serene smile. “The tower in disarray, the Circle nearly annihilated…though it could have been much, much worse. I am glad you arrived when you did. It’s almost as though the Maker himself sent you.”

“The Blight drove me here to seek aid,” she reminded him again. Aid which they were required to give her. Irving nodded politely.

“The least we can do is help you against the darkspawn,” he chuckled dryly. “I would hate to survive this only to be overcome by the Blight.”

“And you don’t have to stay here?” she asked warily, concerned that she might end up bringing the wrath of the Templars upon them. Irving looked back at the tower filled with corpses, the good-natured humour draining from his pale face.

“We will do what we can for now,” he said hopefully, “But if the Blight spreads, the tower itself will be lost. Stopping the Blight is more important.” He dipped his head in an informal bow, and Tsii could practically hear his bones creaking in protest. “You have my word, as First Enchanter. The Circle will join the Grey Wardens in the fight.”

Tsii smiled, elation filling her chest. Defeating the Blight seemed a lot more doable now she had this man and his mages backing her. The clack of a staff drew her eyes to Wynne, who had stepped forwards to speak as well.

“Irving, I have a request: I seek leave to follow the Grey Wardens,” she said, gesturing to Tsii. Irving frowned deeply, deep lines cutting into his face.

“Wynne…” he murmured. “We need you here. The Circle needs you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Irving,” Wynne said firmly. “But the Circle will do fine without me. The Circle has you.” She looked at the small elf, smiling. “This woman is brave and good, and capable of great things. If she will accept my help, I will help her accomplish her goals.”

Pursing her lips, Tsii looked back though the open doors, the Templars marching through valiantly with swords drawn. Irving made a low noise, something that sounded like it wasn’t meant to be heard and her sensitive ears picked up desperation.

“I think you’re needed here, Wynne,” she said carefully, glancing from Irving’s worried face to the woman. “You should stay.”

Wynne took the news with a professional grace, emotionlessly nodding.

“I will respect your decision and stay with the Circle for now,” she said, offering a thin smile. “My offer still stands; you know where to find me should you require my assistance.”

Tsii smiled back, thankful for the offer, and Irving didn’t bother to hide his relief as it creased his brow deeply, lines cutting into his face like knives.

“There is much to be done here, and I must go,” he declared with no small amount of joy. “You must forgive me for not being a proper host.”

Waving her hand, Tsii turned to the door, eager for a hot meal and a strong drink.

“No matter. ‘Till we meet again.”

Irving nodded dutifully.

“When the time comes,” he declared. “We will stand beside you.”

She was thankful for his assurance, trusted him to keep his word, and led her merry band of assholes out the doors to cross the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Uldred wasn't creepy enough in the game for a possessed mage obsessed with power, so I took it upon myself to fix that.


	17. The Spoiled Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fuck Shit Up Squad relax after the Circle, eating good food and Tsii gets a little more familiar with Morrigan.
> 
> WARNING: Underage kissing. If 15y/o x 26y/o makes you uncomfortable, you can skip the end.

“The Spoiled Princess”, contrary to its fun name was not wholly enjoyable. After being informed of its namesake (which was not as cute as she had originally thought), the innkeeper had jabbed one short, weathered finger at Barkspawn like a weapon before turning it on Sten.

“The dog and the monster stay outside!” he commanded angrily, as though either of them had slighted him in some terrible way. Looking around, it didn’t seem as though the other patrons (all one of them) had much of a problem, but Tsii relented, paying for some hot food and taking everyone but Morrigan outside.

The human, in spite of her shortcomings, was more than willing to set her discomforting stare on the man as he set to making the food, silent defiance in defence of those she insisted she hated.

Outside, they set to making camp, Tsii unstrapping the bedrolls from Usti’s back and laying them out while Sten made a fire, grim qunari face intensely focused on the ember he was creating. She stopped, leaning against Usti’s side as she watched his gigantic hands cradle a tiny pile of plant fibres, blowing gently onto the minuscule ember he had produced. Nothing about his actions seemed natural, it was as though every tiny movement had been planned out far ahead of him.

_Exhale gently onto ember for five seconds. Pause for two seconds. Observe tinder. If tinder has not caught, repeat exhalation._

When the ember caught on to the tinder, he didn’t look pleased, simply lowering the now burning fibre into the timber propped up against itself. He continued watching the fire as it built, sternly observing it as though trying to scare a child into behaving, and when the fire had caught, and was burning strong, he stood, meeting her gaze darkly.

She remembered a conversation they had while climbing the long tower, how he had spoken about his first, horrifying encounter with darkspawn. He had fallen to the creatures, his “brothers”, the baresaad dead around him. She wondered how he saw them, if they wracked his nightmares the same way they did hers after her first encounter. She wondered if qunari even had nightmares. She had heard that as a race, they did have mages, so they must have been able to access the Fade, but did they dream the same way she did?

If she remembered correctly, he had placed his encounter there, beside Lake Calenhad. Humming thoughtfully, she looked at Usti’s jagged face, his tiny blue eyes. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to look around, see if she could find the sword he said he had dropped – the only time he had expressed true sorrow.

Taking her own weight again, she ran a hand down Usti’s long, scaly neck, patting him lovingly before wandering about the steep, grassy hill. She stopped where the Imperial Highway passed, the conspicuous, crumbling pillars linked to the cracked path disappearing into the distance.

A rustle caught her attention and her head whipped to the side, hand leaping to the dagger strapped to her bicep. She was confronted by a ragged man with torn clothes, matted hair falling over his face as he hunched protectively over a dirty, broken skeleton.

“Back off!” he spat, voice as ragged as his thin hands, which clutched at a shoe as though it were made of gold. “I was here first!”

Releasing her dagger, Tsii looked over his treasure, there were two gigantic skeletons in pieces, scraps of cloth still strung over their dirty, cracked bones, and several smaller, wider skeletons, bones pristine and untouched by scavengers or the moss beginning to take hold on the other two. There was little else; some pieces of torn leather, scraps of skin which hadn’t completely decomposed, even the skulls of the two large skeletons had disappeared – likely to sell off the majestic horns usually adorning them.

“You haven’t seen a sword lying around here, have you?” she asked shortly, looking up at the genlocks. The dirt surrounding their bones was black and smelled of taint and death, someone having bravely pulled the teeth from their round, ugly skulls. She wondered idly if darkspawn teeth were something people would buy. She supposed they were, since most innkeepers she met were willing to buy anything from gems to old pants off her. The human smiled widely, revealing yellow, cracked teeth.

“Why, you looking to buy one?” he asked excitedly. Tsii frowned, folding her arms. She really wasn’t in the mood to be cheated at the moment, still a tiny bit sore about that Templar yelling at her…

“No,” she said slowly, pointing to the campfire where her companions rested. “But my very large, angry friend over there is.”

She had picked the right time to point, since everyone but Sten had disappeared, and the qunari stood with Usti, fixing something to his back while the fire outlined his gigantic form, flickering gold across his armour. The scavenger swallowed audibly.

“Ah…is he?” he squeaked nervously. “Heh. Well…that’s…see I’d like to sell you one, but I don’t…er…have any myself.” He rummaged around in the dirt, pulling out a scrap of unidentifiable leather. “I got part of a glove the wolves didn’t chew too badly, though! I think it was a glove, anyway…”

He sighed miserably and Tsii couldn’t help but feel bad about threatening him. He was a poor man, down on his luck, trying to scrape together enough of a living to survive, and she blundered in, trying to steal what little he had and threatened him.

“I know,” he said softly. “Don’t say it. I got cheated. I knew the guy who was here before me. He sold me this spot. Said he’d found giants and all kinds of crazy valuables. He didn’t mention that he’d taken everything but the bones and the dirt already.” He glanced up, malice in his eyes and a displeased scowl on his lips. “His name’s Faryn. Squirrelly little bastard if you ask me. Which you didn’t. But I said it anyway.”

Tsii folded her arms. What kind of asshole sold a patch of bloodied dirt to a man with nothing?

“Where is he now?” she asked, angry. The scavenger scratched his head.

“He was going to Orzammar, he said. I imagine he’s gotten there by now.” Another grin cracked his face. “If you find him, tell him I sent you! It’ll scare the piss out of him. Heh.”

Frowning, Tsii shuffled through her bags, producing two shining gold sovereigns. The scavenger’s eyes lit up like a starving man before a feast, and they moistened when Tsii crouched to hand them to them.

“Maker,” he croaked, the tears escaping and rolling down his cheeks, cutting through the dirt encrusting them. “I’ve heard that elves are as kind as they are beautiful…but I didn’t believe it. Thank you kind lady, may the Maker bless you!”

Tsii stood, blushing and unsure of how to respond to that. It was jarring to think that there were people who had never seen one of her kind, to whom elves were like dragons: something they had heard many stories about, but never seen with their own eyes.

“Uh…may He bless you too,” she said awkwardly, unsure of what the etiquette was in such a situation. She stepped back, leaving the man to his weeping and returning to the camp. Alistair lifted an arm as she approached, holding a bowl above Barkspawn’s whining head.

“Hurry up and get your food,” he said around a mouthful of stew. “Before Barkspawn gets hold of it.”

The war dog whined again, barking once and Tsii took the bowl, sniffing it and moaning.

_Spices._

She needed to get hold of some spices or herbs to put in the bland, rabbit-heavy meals they ate on the road – maybe she could make something enjoyable instead of settling for edible. She settled down beside Morrigan, who had planted herself on the border of the fire’s warmth, as far away from Alistair and Barkspawn as she could be, while remaining in the light given off by Sten’s carefully constructed flames.

Spooning the hot broth and spiced meat into her mouth with one hand, Tsii sorted through her pack with the other, rummaging through what she managed to pilfer from the First Enchanter’s office. Some pretty gems found home in her coin pouch, for trading whenever she reached a large city, and she glanced up when Sten silently collected Alistair’s and Morrigan’s bowls, taking them to the inn.

She produced a quill she had found in the Circle, without a drop of ink nearby, and inspected it curiously. She could hear the gentle hum of lyrium from its shaft, and pressed its point against her open journal. She wrote the date in the flowing Kwanitan script, curiously watching the clean tip glide against the parchment, leaving a sharp black line behind it.

She lifted the quill, peering at the tip and touching it to her finger. A drop of ink was there when she removed it. Nice.

She recorded the events in the tower, sketched out a rough map of each level and marked out the important points with little crosses.

_‘Ungrateful asshole stuck in a magic cage because he’s an asshole’_ , she wrote, pointing an arrow to a circle next to the stairs up to the Harrowing Chamber.

Finishing her stew, she drank the broth and placed the bowl on the ground beside her. She continued rilfing through her pack, pulling out a battered old tome bound in black leather, and hummed curiously, running her fingers along a creased spine. The weathered, yellowed pages made a worrying noise as she opened it, finding slips of parchment between many of the pages.

It was written in Common script, but it seemed to be in a language she didn’t know, or perhaps some form of code, and the notes slipped into it were in an unfamiliar hand, attempts to decipher the writing and diagrams, which seemed unsuccessful.

“What?” The gentle gasp came from behind her, causing her to spin to find Morrigan’s shocked golden eyes locked on the book in her hands.

“You found Flemeth’s grimoire,” she said, more emotion that Tsii was used to in her voice. She closed it, offering the tome to the witch, who ran her fingers over the cover thoughtfully.

“While we were in the tower, I wondered if it might be recoverable…but I had yet to speak of it to you.” She glanced up, the closest thing to a genuine smile Tsii had ever seen curling one corner of her lips. “How fortunate that you found it on your own. You have my thanks. I will begin study of the tome immediately.”

Tsii watched the fascination the human observed her mother’s grimoire with, enjoying her openly curious expression. She found herself admiring the sharp angles of her face, her aquiline gold eyes, scouring the wrinkled, cracked cover. She was beautiful, though nasty, like the gigantic spiders of home. Morrigan glanced up, meeting Tsii’s gaze, and the elf pouted.

“Don’t I even get a kiss for my efforts?” she whined, admiring the flash of the woman’s teeth when she smiled playfully.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she purred. “That seems like a steep reward to ask for.”

Tsii stood from the log she had been perched on, looking up at the tall woman with a grin. She liked the playful side of Morrigan.

“I think I deserve it,” she argued, tilting her head. Morrigan chuckled softly, laying the grimoire on Tsii’s log.

“You could be right. Let us test the theory,” she suggested, lifting Tsii’s marked chin to meet her lips.

It was a gentle, mostly chaste kiss, Morrigan’s lips soft and grip controlling. Tsii wondered if she could make the human relinquish that control, enjoy the freedom that came from being dominated, if by a smaller female.

Morrigan decided when the kiss was over, holding Tsii’s chin firm as she pulled back, smirking with a flash of teeth.

“There,” she said softly. “Compensation requested and provided.” Stepping away, she retrieved the tome once more, the moment quickly gone. “I do not intend to squander this opportunity to learn more than Flemeth wished me to know. This should be…interesting.”

Taking a step back, Morrigan looked her up and down, holding the grimoire like a child with a new toy and turning to seek out her bedroll.

Tsii watched her go, thought overtaking. The human was fascinating, an enigma with much lurking below the surface, like the murky river slicing through her homeland. She wondered what she would find, ploughing through the silent water. A docile, beautiful fish with shimmering scales? An elegant, powerful snake, tongue tasting the air curiously? She was fascinated.


	18. Zevran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting a suave assassin, the FSUS make camp and spend some time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ganegaganehidigewelodi = skin ink.   
> Since Tsii's clan is so cut off from the rest of the world, I'm trying to warp the dalish belief and language to something pretty unrecognisable. Since a lot of the inspiration is taken from Native Americans, I'm using a Cherokee dictionary: http://www.cherokee.org/About-The-Nation/Cherokee-Language/Dikaneisdi-Word-List  
> I am not copying the dalish 100% and I am not copying the Cherokee 100%. I'm taking pieces of both cultures (plus native Amazonians) to create a unique culture.  
> If it's mistranslated I'm sorry - I don't speak Cherokee and can only find one source to use as a basic translator.  
> I'm trying :)

Zevran groaned softly, sharp stones pressing into his cheek. He was surprised that he actually woke up, with the great sleek cat that had torn through his allies. It had looked like the statues he had seen of lions, lacking their long manes, but bearing black spots upon its brown-yellow fur.

He opened his eyes blearily, taking note that his arms were lashed tightly behind his back, at both his wrists and elbows. His ankles were bound too, and he blinked until the ground was no longer a big blur.

“Oh...what?” he groaned confusedly, a throbbing behind his eyes and his stomach doing some rather creative gymnastics. “I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or…not wake up at all, as the case may be.”

If he wasn't gagged, he was going to do his best to talk his way out of his situation, and as his eyes lifted up from the pair of light leather boots in front of him (curiously wrapped in thicker leather around the ankles and up to the knee), up to the image of a woman, he wondered if he could talk his way into her bed as well.

“But I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

She was tall, but beside her companions, her elven height betrayed her like her pointed ears. Her armour was that of a desert-dweller – loose and light, he had glimpsed it before the fight, before he was distracted by that big cat, but now he had time to really look at it, and the woman in it; piercing eyes the colour of a burnt tree, set into a beautiful brown face like those born in Antiva or Rivain, with markings tattooed into her skin, bright gold against the dark olive with a tone of red beneath. Her hair was black shining brown in the midday sun and bound behind her head with strands shaken loose by fighting to frame her face.

When she spoke, her accent was one he hadn't quite heard before, something like Ander but a little more...wild.

“That could be easily rectified,” she growled, and when her eyes flashed, he knew that she was the animal. A shapeshifter. He tilted his head.

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” he purred in response, watching her eyes, trying to read her. “You are most skilled. If you haven’t killed me, however, you must have kept me alive for some purpose, yes?”

A black eyebrow quirked up just a bit – amusement possibly, or it could have been annoyance.

“You seem awfully glib for a prisoner,” she pointed out, and Zevran made a mental note – amusement. He chuckled in the way that had caused more than a few women to drop their underclothes. “It is my way, or so I am told.”

His immediate impression was that she was smart, and liked people who were equally so – those dark eyes weren’t yielding much else.

“Let’s see then,” he said as suavely as he could muster in such a situation. “I assume you kept me alive to ask me some questions, yes? If so, let me save you time and get right to the point.”

He introduced himself smoothly, his voice a seductive purr, and told her everything – about who had hired the crows, his mission. The Warden asked sharp, intelligent questions, gave sarcastic, smart responses, and always her eyes were trained on his. At moments he was so distracted by her piercing gaze he would forget to answer her questions and her gaze would turn dark and irritated.

“If you’re done with the interrogation,” he purred, tilting his head just a little. “I’ve a proposal for you. If you’re of a mind.”

The Warden didn’t speak, simply nodded for him to continue, and he mustered as much of his charm as he ever had.

“Well, here’s the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.”

The Warden folded her arms while he spoke, lifting a dark brow incredulously as a scoff came from her nose.

“You must think I’m royally stupid,” she said, amusement in her soft, wild voice.

“I think you’re royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous,” he added, not even lying this time. “Not that I think you’ll respond to simple flattery. But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess.”

She was clearly not moved by his flattery, and he wondered if it was because the Fereldens spoke their mind, told her how beautiful she was. Or perhaps it was because she made a habit of taking prisoners and all of them had the same idea of appealing to her female vanity.

“Can I expect the same amount of loyalty from you?” she asked sarcastically, and he didn’t let on that he knew she was considering it.

“I happen to be a very loyal person,” he said somewhat indignantly. “Up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing. That’s not a fault, really, is it? I mean, unless you’re the sort who would so the same thing. In which case I…don’t come very well recommended, I suppose.”

He trailed off into a small laugh and could see thought filling her eyes, although which way it went, he had no idea.

“And what’s to stop you from finishing the job later?” she asked, arms folded and hip cocked out. Zevran shrugged as best he could.

“To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child.” He drew his brows together, the poor slave child who never had a choice in his fate. “I think I’ve paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can’t touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I’d rather take my chances with you.”

He felt her searching for truth in his eyes and idly wondered where she was from. Every elf, city or Dalish felt sympathy for a slave – at least if they knew anything about their history – and she was too intelligent to know nothing of the past.

“Why would I want your service?” she suddenly asked, and Zevran _knew_ she was close to saying yes.

“Why?” he purred. “Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more…sophisticated…now that my attempts have failed.” He shrugged again. “I could also stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors? No?”

She twisted her lips, eyes narrowing distrustfully.

“Is this before or after you stab me in the back?” she asked in a tone that clearly showed she was the dominant one in this conversation. He clicked his tongue.

“These things you say, they must drive the men back home simply _wild!_ ” he purred, and to her credit, she didn’t seem taken aback by his sudden flirt.

“So what shall it be? I’ll even shine armour. You won’t find a better deal, I promise.”

She was quiet for a long moment and Zevran realised that in that moment it was being decided whether he lived or died. His heart thrummed in his chest, thundering in his ears, and he was filled with a relief like no other when she slowly inclined her head.

“Very well,” she said carefully. “I accept your offer.”

Before Zevran could think of a smart reply, the human in heavy steel armour piped up, rather loudly.

“What?!” he exclaimed. “You’re taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?”

The Warden glanced at him and from his appearance, Zevran guessed he was the second surviving Warden. He was certainly less impressive than the first.

“We can use him,” the elf said in way of an explanation, and his lips drew together in what could only be called a pout.

“We could apparently use a swift kick in the head, too, but you don’t see me going around asking for one.”

The mage standing behind the first Warden also put in her opinion, cold golden eyes seeming to stare right through him.

“A fine plan,” she said, glancing at the Warden before her. “But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you.”

“That’s excellent advice for anyone,” Zevran pointed out, and the Warden’s gaze shot back to him, a slight curl forming at the corner of her lips. She nodded and the second Warden warily slipped behind him to untie his binds. The first lowered a hand to him and he took it, enjoying its warmth and the thin, firm grip of an elven woman.

“I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This, I swear,” he finished by bowing his head to her, and she nodded shortly, glancing at the other Warden.

“We don’t have much time to linger. We need to head on to Orzammar.”

The Warden nodded and the first Warden gave Zevran a wary look, watching him as she swept past the corpses he was grateful not to be alongside and swiped a nice dagger, some poultices, as though she was waiting for him to stop her. It wasn’t like they had much use for them anymore, so he just smiled and watched a strange, horse-sized lizard saunter up behind her, sniffing the air as it passed him, a long, thin, muscly tongue poking out to slip across its snout. The first Warden then set off along the Highway, bravely not looking back at Zevran. He realised after a gentle hiss urged him on that his behaviour was being watched by the odd beast following him. He wasn’t overly surprised – he didn’t expect to be trusted for a while yet.

 

                                                                                                                                       ****

 

Tsii sat close to the fire, trying to ignore the seeping chill of Ferelden as she watched Alistair play with Barkspawn. The two tustled like boys, both growling playfully and snapping at each other as they rolled in the dirt, the dog nipping at arms and hands while the man tugged at ears and skin with his hands.

The two were inseperable, like a finger and thumb, and they worked together just as well. Usti sighed loudly, grumbling for her attention and she laughed softly, dropping a hand to scratch the leathery scales between his horns. A low rumble escaped from the beast, and Tsii’s hand, accustomed to his jagged head, instinctively skirted around horns and spikes to pet the lounging dracolisk.

A sleek, elegant form approached the fire, hands linked together before her body, and Morrigan flashed her a knowing smile before settling gracefully to the ground beside her, robes fluttering. She always wondered how the witch never got cold, with most of her body bared by the fabric looped loosely around her neck, and her breasts barely covered by thin triangles held in place by a breath of string.

“I have been studying Mother’s grimoire,” the human said calmly, looking at Tsii from the corner of her eye. “Do you wish to hear what I have found?”

She nodded for her companion to continue, and Morrigan hesitated for a moment, glancing at her hands.

“‘Tis…not what I expected. I had hoped for a collection of her spells, a map of the power that she commands. But this is not it.”

Tsii tilted her head. She had an unnerved air about her, like a hunter after seeing their first darkspawn, and she pursed her lips together as though trying to find words.

“You look disturbed,” she pointed out. Morrigan lifted her eyes to meet the elf’s, blinking rapidly.

“Disturbed?” she mused. “Yes, perhaps that is the right word. One thing in particular within her writings disturbs me.” She inhaled deeply, as though to brace herself. “In…great detail, Flemeth explains the means by which she has survived for centuries.”

Tsii smirked wryly, folding her arms.

“Let me guess. She drinks blood? Eats children?” Usti huffed, as though amused, and yet Morrigan did not smile, glancing at the lounging creature.

“That is closer to the truth than you might think,” she said gravely, looking back up. “Flemeth has raised many daughters over her long lifetime. There are stories of these many Witches of the Wilds throughout Chasind legend, yet I have never seen a one, and always wondered why not.”

She looked down at her hands, speaking with a dead, quiet voice that sounded like a disguise for fear. “And now I know. They are all Flemeth. When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes her daughter’s body for her own.”

Tsii’s stomach dropped. How could a woman do such a thing? To her own daughter? It was disgusting, sickening - she felt ill at the mere thought. But why send her away? Flemeth had been so insistent, if she had died, Morrigan (her…new body) might have been across the country!

“Why would she risk sending you with me?” she asked. It seemed on par with sending one’s water away in the middle of the Anderfels.

“I do not know,” Morrigan admitted. “Perhaps ‘tis as she said: the darkspawn threaten her as much as they threaten anyone else. Or perhaps she believes this journey will make me more powerful. According to the tome, if the…host…is already powerful and trained in magic, it takes far less time for Flemeth to…settle in.”

Morrigan seemed to shudder at the thought, and Tsii realised the woman was expressing more emotion to her than ever before.

“Are you certain about this?” she asked gently, not wanting to disbelieve her, but aware that this was a very serious accusation, and would probably have very serious consequences. Morrigan nodded once, meeting her eyes confidently.

“Indeed,” she said shortly. “That is primarily what this tome details. The various daughters that Flemeth has…” She cleared her throat. “Acquired. Their preparation and training. I recognise all of it. I…am to be her next host. This is my purpose.”

Tsii lifted a brow challengingly, tilting her head. She wanted revenge on the human’s behalf, nobody deserved to be forced into something like that.

“So what do you intend to do about it?” she challenged, and Morrigan laid her hands in her lap, speaking matter-of-factly.

“There is only one possible response to this: Flemeth needs to die,” she said with confidence. “I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled. Flemeth must be slain and I need your help to do it.”

Tsii smiled, prepared to do whatever she could to help. The human was confrontational and cold, but Tsii had felt a tentative friendship forming and fully intended to guide it into a bond.

“I will help you, any way I can,” she declared. Morrigan smiled, relief crossing her smooth face, and Tsii could swear she heard a relieved sigh before her face hardened.

“Then what needs to be done is for you to go back to Flemeths hut in the Korcari Wilds…without me. If I am present when she is slain, I cannot be certain that she will not be able to possess my body right then. So I must remain at the camp.”

Tsii nodded, admiring the determined gleam in her golden eyes. In the flickering light she was quite beautiful, in the same way the Wilds were: harsh and free.

“Confront her and slay her quickly. I doubt she will truly be dead even then, but it will take her years to find a new host and recover her power…if that is even possible. The thing I must have is her true Grimoire. With it I can defend against her power in the future. Everything else in her hut is yours.”

Equally determined, Tsii flashed a smile, wondering if Morrigan would flinch away were she to lay her hand on her shoulder in support.

“It might take some time,” she warned. “The Wilds are far, but I promise that we will go. She will die.”

The smile Morrigan wore was something gentler, softer than Tsii had ever seen on the woman, and she appreciated the trust she was being given.

“I am grateful,” she said truth in her words. “The sooner this can be done, the sooner it will set my mind at ease.”

With another glance at Usti and a small smile offered to Tsii, the woman stood gracefully, as though their discussion was nothing more complex than the weather, and turned her back, striding powerfully towards her tent. Tsii didn’t miss the sharp glare she shot Zevran as he passed, who flashed her a bright, innocent smile before settling onto the ground beside Tsii in a way that could only be called seductive.

Everything about the elf was gold. From sharp gold eyes to smooth golden brown skin, pointed ears bearing gold rings stark againt white-gold hair braided lovingly and deliberately behind his head, with enough loose to brush along his slender elven neck…he looked as though someone had tried to paint a man using gold as a base for every colour.

“Tell me,” the elf purred, rolling the words around in his mouth as though to coat him with his thick accent like honey. “Where do you hail from? Is there a land I am not aware of filled with warrior goddesses just ready to be worshipped?”

Tsii leaned back, smirking. She loved nothing more than bragging about her home.

“Absolutely,” she said enthusiastically. “The jungle is forever warm and humid, filled with prancing warrior elves worshipping us mages. They shower us with petals and praise, kiss our toes and massage our skin with exotic oils to gain our favour.” Her sarcasm was not lost on him, but she continued nonetheless, waving her hands theatrically.

“And yet the jungle is harsh as a smith’s hands, filled with snakes big enough to eat a lion or poisonous enough to melt your flesh. An ugly fly will lay eggs in your skin and its maggots will eat their way out, and a beautiful river wider than the imperial highway cuts through the jungle, filled with caimans that hide beneath the water and leap out when you come to drink, dragging you below to rip your limbs off and eat you.”

Zevran’s face had faltered just a touch before his smile returned.

“Mm, it is no wonder this place turned out such a powerful creature,” he murmured. Tsii smiled brightly. Her home certainly was a harsh place. Beautiful and lush, but no less deadly than the country it bordered, it was a stark contrast, a land which the Blight never touched beside one forever tainted from the ravaging it had delivered.

“And a spider,” she trilled, “barely the size of your hand, with red fangs and the deadliest bite in the jungle. You sweat and swell, vomit without any control, and you will die within as little as an hour.” She grinned widely. “And you lucky men you will experience the longest, most painful erection of your dramatically shortened life.” Zevran’s smile had dropped when he thought she wasn’t looking, as he clearly imagined the dreadful situation. In truth, the spiders were shy, and the simplest habits of shaking out one’s boots and keeping one’s fingers in sight was enough to avoid a bite. When she turned to look at him properly, he had covered up his distressed expression and tilted his head with a quirk of his brow.

“They say the most beautiful of diamonds are formed in the harshest of conditions,” he pointed out. “You know, in Antiva a woman of your beauty and power would be worshipped like the Goddess you are, showered with praise and gifts as men fall to your feet, pleading for the honour of your glorious attention.”

Tsii laughed lowly, unsurprised that he wished to change the subject. Everybody wanted to talk about something else after the bot fly.

“I haven’t heard much about Antiva,” she relented. “What is it like?”

His eyes lit up, a wistful expression claiming his face in the way it seemed to claim many speaking of home.

“The only way to truly appreciate it is to go there,” he purred in a voice reserved for works of art or lovers. “It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom, or so the saying goes.”

Tsii wondered how much of it was true, and how much he remembered through the beautiful lens of nostalgia and patriotism.

“You don’t like Ferelden, then?” she asked, unsurprised. It was a cold, miserable country filled with cold, miserable inhabitants. Zevran shrugged.

“It is fine enough, with its dogs and its mud,” he said. “The people are spirited, even if they can’t tell the difference between an assassin and a mere killer.”

Spirited? Were they talking about the same country? She supposed if he had been judging Fereldens off Alistair and Barkspawn, it was an easy mistake to make, since the two were filled with enough energy to be setting fires from the pure joy they exuded together. Perhaps the country was more cheery when it wasn’t faced with a Blight – Tsii had probably been judging the country wrong by assuming its war-torn, blighted, terrified state had no effect on the spirit of its people.

Zevran’s face had taken on an even more wistful look, a sweet smile and lowered eyes accompanying his loving Antivan purr.

“I hail from the _glorious_ Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City.” He sighed “You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillio flutes of the minstrels…I miss the leather the most.”

Tsii’s brow furrowed.

“The leather?” she repeated, bewildered. Zevran nodded, hair fluttering smoothly against his small hand.

“I mean the smell,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut delightedly and missing Tsii’s grimace. “For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City’s leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home, more than anything else.”

Tsii didn’t know what to say. For so long she had thought the Donarks an evil, unhospitable place, frought with danger and cruel nature – especially after what happened to her mother. She hadn’t really taken the time until recently to appreciate the freedom she enjoyed throughout her childhood, soaring over the treetops as a hawk-eagle or bounding across the jungle floor, weaving through the trees as a lion.

Remembering her coming-of-age ceremony, she thought of the way her father had watched proudly as she, _ganegaganehidigewelodi_ still fresh and bleeding, danced around a fire with her friends, singing and whooping. It was that night the Elder had revealed her vision to Tsii, told her that she was destined to unite ancient enemies against a common threat, and protect the world against an ancient evil. She had been gifted Usti that night, only a hatchling at the time, and in the five years passed, she had wondered endlessly what that ancient evil was – what enemies she was supposed to unite.

She dropped a hand to stroke between the dracolisk’s horns, and he sighed sleepily, reminding her of just how late it was, the moon high in the sky. She could afford to stay up late – if Alistair refused to carry her sleeping avian form tomorrow, Usti would bear her without a hint of complaint. – But she wasn’t quite certain how good Zevran was with spending the whole day walking while still being ready to fight at any given moment.

“It’s getting late,” she warned the elf, who glanced at the sky with a lazy smirk.

“Ah, how time flies when it is spent with you, _diamante_ ,” he purred, winking at her. “I could join you in your tent to ensure the rest of the night flies by as well.”

Tsii shot him a lopsided grin, patting Usti’s dozing head.

“Sorry, but Usti can get a little jealous,” she responded playfully, tracing his horns. The beast hissed softly as though to confirm, and Zevran chuckled.

“It would not be the first time it happened,” he said suggestively, finally picking himself up with all the grace of a snake, sauntering over to bother Morrigan. Tsii watched him go, wondering if all men swung their hips like that, and she never noticed, or if it was just him. Fishing in her pack for her map and that ever-useful quill she had pilfered from the Circle, she headed to where Alistair squatted with Barkspawn, rubbing the hound’s face and cooing to him lovingly.

The mabari’s sharp, upright ears swivelled to Tsii as she approached, and he barked once, tearing away from Alistair to barrel towards her like a charging bear.

She yelped in a mixture of surprise and fear as Barkspawn leaped, colliding with her abdomen with the force of a dragon’s tail and sending her to the ground, breath completely knocked out of her. As though devouring a meal, Barkspawn licked at her face and neck sloppily, barking happily when she cried out for help and pinning her woefully small body with his gigantic paws.

“Alistair can you call him off?” she wheezed, her lack of breath taking the anger our of request while she tried to wiggle out from under the dog at the same time as shielding her face from his affections with her arms. The human was hunched over, clutching at his middle as tears spilled down his face, his own hysterical laughter interrupting everything he tried to say.

“Ali help!” she begged, spluttering as Barkspawn managed to wriggle through her arms. “By the spirits, Ali get him off!”

Barely recovering enough to catch his breath, Alistair stumbled over, wheezing and giggling like a child.

“Barkie…here…” he managed, gasping for breath, and Barkspawn woofed, bouncing off her to run back to his master.

Tsii rolled onto her side, coughing and trying to wipe the litres of slobber off her face, accepting Alistair’s arm. He pulled her off the ground, still chuckling to himself and scowled at him, yanking him towards her to wipe her face against his tunic.

“Bloody dog just about licked my _ganegaganehidigewelodi_ off,” she grumbled. Alistair snorted, covering his mouth and continuing to laugh when she cursed at him in Kwanitan, keeping a sharp eye on Barkspawn as she stooped to pick up her dropped map and quill, grumbling to herself.

“He likes you,” the human pointed out brightly, finally having recovered enough to speak. Tsii still scowled at him. His hair was tousled, tears dried on his cheeks, and a boyish grin cemented on his lips.

“Yes, well…” she huffed. “He has a bit of a funny way of showing it.” She folded her arms, but it was hard to stay mad when Barkspawn was standing there, stubby little tail sending his ass swaying back and forth like a ball on a string while he panted, looking rather pleased with himself.

Alistair seemed to sense as much, pressing his lips together and failing to hide his amused smile as Tsii planted herself on the ground, yanking him down with her. She unrolled the map, pleased that he gracelessly collapsed beside her, and pulled her quill out.

“Right,” she said firmly, pointing to their campsite with the quill. “Orzammar shouldn’t be far if we continue across the Imperial Highway. Yesterday when I was scouting I found a patch of land about…here…” She circled a spot just off the highway. “It’s thick forest, so it would make a nice place to camp and hunt down something good for dinner.”

Alistair shrugged.

“Seems reasonable,” he murmured, a little distractedly, it seemed. After minutes of staring at the map, mouthing calculations to herself (they should have arrived in the forest the next day, midday hopefully), she noticed that he was oddly quiet, especially after he had almost pissed himself at her misfortune. Tsii peered at him curiously, found him looking at her thoughtfully, or perhaps through her, so deep in his own head he didn’t consider where his gaze lay.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, making him jump. She wondered if he’d been told off for daydreaming in the monastery he had grown up in.

“I was just wondering…” he said hesitantly. “I’d like to know your thoughts about some of our…travelling compainions. Do you mind?”

Tsii grinned, happy to see that there wasn't any issues, glancing about conspiratorily and clapping her hands together.

“Oooh! Time for juicy gossip?” she whispered. Alistair grinned widely, a cheeky, boyish look which made him look even younger than he was.

“I’ve got this nefarious plan to go around to each of them and secretly tell them all the nasty things you said. That way they’ll mutiny and I shall become the group leader!” He threw his head back, laughing maniacally and Tsii snorted.

“I wouldn’t trust you to lead us to dessert,” she said, elbowing him playfully. He gasped.

“Hey, that’s a pretty good policy,” he said thoughtfully. “Where exactly is dessert, anyway?”

She wasn’t quite sure what kind of dessert they could have carried on the road with them. Maybe she could gather some berries and melt them down into something to put on bread? That sounded disgusting. Alistair continued, leaning back on his hands.

“Seriously though, I’m only curious. I’ve had enough time to form my own opinions and I just want to see if yours are any different.”

She grinned at him, rolling the map up and placing it on the ground.

“Only if you tell me your opinion, as well.”

Alistair snorted

“Just try and stop me,” he said slyly. “Let’s see…where should I begin? What about Sten?” He looked over to the hulking Qunari, who was lovingly sharpening his borrowed sword. “The way he looks at me, with those eyes…creepy. And he’s so quiet for someone so big.”

Tsii followed his gaze, tilting her head. The flickering fire outlined his gigantic form, the shadows cast across his stony face making him look ever more sallow.

“I respect him,” she finally said, looking back at the human. He nodded slowly, pursing his lips.

“The more I talk to him, the more reasonable he does seem,” he said thoughtfully. “His philosophy is so strange, but it doesn’t sound at all as vile as the Chantry describes it.” He looked back at Tsii, brow furrowed in confusion. “And yet he killed all those people. He doesn’t even deny it. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Tsii shrugged.

“He seems to regret what he did,” she pointed out. The warrior had admitted to his crime, and while he didn’t seem all too cut up about it, he seemed to recognise that he killed innocent people. Alistair made a thoughtful noise.

“Hm. I’m not so sure that his regret means the same as it would for us. The Qunari sense of honour is…a bit hard to grasp.” He shrugged. “For me, anyway. Morrigan. Do you trust her? Think about it…maybe Flemeth sent her with us for some other reason than she said.”

He glanced conspiratorily at Morrigan’s tent, and the mage in front of it, arms crossed and probably using some…less than kind words on the elf looking up at her flirtatiously.

“You really don’t like each other, do you?” she mused, watching Zevran hand the human a daisy from the outskirts of the camp, which she promptly coated in a thin layer of ice and crushed into dust, spinning on her heel to storm into her tent.

“Well aside from the fact that she’s a complete and utter _bitch_ , no…I don’t like her at all,” Alistair was growling, glancing back at Tsii with an uncharacteristic scowl. “Why? Do you?”

Tsii shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

“I like her just fine,” she mumbled, thinking back to their kiss. Just fine. Alistair scoffed darkly.

“Great. I am thrilled beyond words. No, really,” he grunted. “Just tell me one thing. You’ve been acting a little strange with her…do you have a…thing going with Morrigan?”

Her cheeks suddenly felt warm. A _thing_? What kind of thing? She liked the human’s straightforwardness, her ability to tell the brutal truth no matter how hard it was. Not to mention how beautiful she was, with her dark hair, her intelligent eyes…apparently she had taken too long to answer, because Alistair made a gagging noise, looking away.

“Maker…” he grumbled. “Wonderful. I may vomit.” He sat up, folding his arms and looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Just remember that she’s dangerous,” he huffed. “And evil. And mean. Anyway, I think my curiosity is sated.”

He sounded somewhat offended, as though it was a personal slight against him. Who the fuck was he to judge? She didn’t even say anything, and he was acting like she had punched him or given her opinion on his mother’s chastity.

She sniffed, gathering her things and storming off. Well fuck him and fuck his mother. She could like whoever she wanted – just because she gave people the chance to redeem themselves before she completely wrote them off as unsalvageable assholes!

She threw the flap of her tent open, tossing her map to the side and dumping herself onto the ground. After a moment of silence, a horned head poked out from between the flaps, hissing softly.

Tsii grumbled softly, unrolling her bedroll and flicking it out, pointing it out of the tent. Some habits were hard to break, and while she doubted the bugs of Ferelden were as deadly as what she was used to, she wasn’t about to die halfway through her quest because some unknown spider snuggled up to her in the night.

Slipping into her bedroll, she checked her journal and sighed. Not even halfway through her quest. She rubbed her eyes. Next was Orzammar, and then Redcliffe…and they could hunt down Flemeth from there. Groaning, she tossed the book against the side of the tent and wrapped the blanket tightly around her neck, hearing Usti wiggle his way in. He dropped his head down beside her, looking at her with his little blue eyes, and how exactly did that big, beautiful monster of a lizard do puppy eyes?

A tiny smile managed to take hold of her face, and she leaned forwards, giving the dracolisk a kiss on the muzzle. She could have a _thing_ with whoever she wanted to.

Maybe she should have kissed Morrigan in front of the bloody man, see how he felt about that.

Bastard.


	19. Reminders of Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring what they think is a simple forest, the FSUS encounter a noble getting the shit kicked out of him and come to the realisation that they have to return to the battlefield they almost died on.

The smell of the forest was musty, damp earth and wet leaves offering a scent almost like home. The trees, tall and thin were bare along the length of the trunk, sprouting into magnificent branches to create a canopy of slits which the sun peeked through. Discarded needles and leaves softened the steps they took. Tsii purred to herself, enjoying the enhanced sights, sounds and smells her leonine form offered. Though her small, fuffy ears were facing the front, it was foolish to assume her sensitive hearing was focused purely ahead, which made her rather curious that Alistair even bothered to lower his voice.

“So what's the deal with you and her, anyway?” he whispered conspiratorily. “Dare I ask?”

Morrigan’s voice was clear, unbothered by being heard, and she sounded displeased.

“Her? Her who? Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

“You know exactly who I'm talking about,” Alistair snapped, voice still low. “Miss Let's-Make-Kissy-Faces over there.”

Morrigan chuckled lowly, voice practically a purr.

“My, my. You are jealous, aren't you? Did I take your favorite Grey Warden away from you?” she said, in something like a playful voice. Tsii gave no indication that she heard, continuing to pad along quietly with her tail swaying lazily behind her.

“What?” Alistair choked out. “I'm not jealous! I'm horrified!”

Morrigan laughed again.

“Those blushing cheeks of yours tell a different tale,” she purred. Alistair huffed.

“These blushing cheeks are terrified that you'll suck all the blood out of her once you're done with her,” he insisted, causing Morrigan’s voice to drop somewhat suggestively.

“If I feel the need to suck on anything of yours, Alistair, you'll be the first to know.”

“That...was _so_ not what I meant,” he said lowly, sounding like he had eaten something bad. Morrigan continued.

“Perhaps we should go and tell her together of your touching concerns? Perhaps she’ll pay more attention to you if you ask nicely,” she trilled. Who exactly was he supposed to be jealous of? Morrigan or Tsii?

“Uh-huh. I think we're done here,” he finally grumbled. Morrigan sounded rather pleased with herself.

“Done before you started, in fact.”

Tsii grumbled softly. It was so unlike Alistair to be so aggressive, snapping at the other human like a protective lioness and often using choice curses he hesitated to use against people trying to kill them. She paused, whiskers twitching and body tensed like a bowstring at a thud of something heavy connecting with flesh.

She trotted closer, quietly and close to the ground, and her companions followed dutifully, Bodahn pulling his bronto to a halt as Morrigan, Alistair, Zevran and Sten all crept along with her. An unrestrained cry of pain echoed around them, and Tsii sped up, the sounds of pain getting louder and more frequent as she crept closer.

Padding up a mossy incline, Tsii’s ears perked up as another wail of pain shot out, from a man in expensive looking clothes being dragged by his hair from his spot curled up in the ground. Around him were five more men, heavily armoured, bearing swords and shields, taking turns at punching and kicking the whimpering man.

Without thinking, Tsii released a loud roar, furious that the man was being given so little of a chance. One of the armoured men slipped a dagger between the whimpering man’s ribs, and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes. Tsii pounced, the weight of her body throwing the man she landed on to the forest floor, and before he could draw his sword, she had his unarmoured head in her mouth, and squeezed until he stopped screaming. The other men shouted, clearly angry and one seized up, body jolting uncontrollably as lightning poured from Morrigan’s hands above. Zevran had disappeared, and Sten and Alistair both thundered down the incline, swords drawn.

And if that wasn’t the scariest damn thing Tsii had ever seen…

Blood spurted out of one man’s opened neck without warning, and Zevran appeared over his shoulder, flashing Tsii a smirk before he disappeared once again. The pounding of Sten’s feet as he drew close cautioned Tsii to move away, and it was the right choice as the Qunari shoved a man to the ground as though he weighed nothing, decapitating him with a single, heavy swipe of his sword.

The final body fell to the ground, and Tsii glanced over, only seeing Alistair’s displeased frown and Zevran’s cheeky grin for a second before she ran to where the unarmoured man had fallen, releasing her spell. She knelt over the body, recognising the royal colours she had seen on Cailan’s tent back at Ostagar on his stained, bloody tunic. Glancing up at his face, she found it somewhat familiar – she couldn’t place a name, but she remembered seeing him with the young King at all times, some form of guard or confidant.

He took in a deep, ragged breath, cradling where the knife had entered.

“Thank you,” he managed weakly. “I…didn’t expect the Bann’s men to notice my escape so quickly. I tried to hide here in the woods, but there wasn’t time.” A splutter forced blood out of his mouth, splattering across his chest. “And now I’m a dead man.”

Tsii’s brow furrowed, it sounded like he was bleeding into his lungs, he was ragged and weak, barely able to force the words out of his lips.

“What do you mean, there wasn’t time?” she asked gently, glancing from his face to his wound and wondering if there was anything she could do.

“You were there in Ostagar,” he croaked. “You know how things went. For me, it was either this, or die in some darkspawns belly, or…or be hung as a deserter.”

She nodded slowly, brushing the hair out of his face in an attempt to comfort him.

“Yes, I recognise your face.”

He smiled weakly, blood covered teeth glinting in the sun.

“You were there with the Grey Wardens. One of Duncan’s new recruits.” He sounded as though he was assuring himself of the facts, reminding himself that she was friendly. “I was to guard the King. He was my friend, understand?” He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and grimacing. “Maker. All that time in Bann Loren’s prison and I couldn’t stop thinking about all they suffered…that one dark night at Ostagar.”

“It’s not your fault they died,” she assured him, unsure of how else to make his last moments pleasant. He nodded.

“I know. Even had Loghain’s men not turned their backs on us…the darkspawn were too many. Even Cailan, for all his bravado, knew there would be no victory at Ostagar.” He paused to inhale deeply, as though talking was far more effort than it seemed. “The King entrusted me with the key to the royal arms chest. If anything were to happen to him, he said, it was vital I deliver it to the Wardens.”

Tsii glanced at Alistair, who looked dismayed at being reminded of that night.

“Why didn’t he give the key to Duncan?”

“He didn’t get the chance,” the man choked out. “Duncan was so busy with the new recruits and keeping Loghain at bay. Whatever his reasoning, it’s me Cailan entrusted it to.”

“Do you still have the key?” she asked gently, sensing that the man didn’t have long left. He coughed out something like a laugh, grimacing at the pain of that small action.

“The Maker has a sense of humour, doesn’t He?” he asked wryly. “I suppose it’s for the best, however – had I kept it, it would be in Bann Loren’s hands by now.”

She wasn’t certain who Bann Loren was, but she guessed he was a traitor like Loghain, eager to kill off so many people in a quest for power. Alistair scoffed from behind her.

“Why am I not surprised?” he asked sarcastically. “Is there someone else we should be bringing back from the brink of death instead?”

The man frowned, tears brimming in his eyes.

“I was afraid,” he admitted. “I thought I would lose it on the battlefield, so I stashed it in the camp. Please.” He reached up, grabbing at her gloved wrist. “It’s probably still there.”

Horror dawning on her, Tsii knew she would have to return. Back to the battlefield she may have died on.

“Where?” she asked, bracing herself. There were a few darkspawn left there she had a bone to pick with. The man grit his teeth with a pained groan, arching his neck.

“The key’s behind a loose stone,” he choked out. “In the base of a statue.” He squeezed her wrist, taking in another ragged breath. “It is vital that the King’s documents do not fall into the wrong hands. As for Maric’s sword, it is too powerful to be pawed at by those _monsters_. Same for the King’s other arms and armour. And…” He coughed again, grip loosening and a tear escaping his eye. “And if you happen to find Cailan’s body, see it off. He was our King. He shouldn’t be left to rot amidst the darkspawn’s filth.”

With that, the man’s arm went limp, and his eyes glazed over, staring off into nothing. Tsii let his hand fall to his side, considering him for a long moment. Alistair broke her out of her stupor, voice cutting clear and bright through the damp forest air.

“You’ll be taking me along, won’t you?” he asked. “Call me sentimental, but we left behind some darkspawn that really deserve a drubbing.”

Tsii nodded sharply, rising to her feet. Back to Ostagar. She couldn’t skip over Orzammar to get there, they were only a day or two away, but it was definitely next. She was ready to take revenge on those rotting pieces of shit.


	20. The gates of Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii's jungle home comes back to bite her when they arrive at Orzammar, and is more than happy to work out her frustrations with the King's personal wiper.
> 
> I don't fuckin know how to do a summary

It was too fucking cold.

Way too fucking cold.

Tsii’s armour, so well designed for staving off heatstroke in the jungle or the wasteland of the Anders, was mildly uncomfortable at the best of times in Ferelden. A little cold, but as long as she was in the sun, she could remain warm.

But on top of a fucking mountain, snow assaulting them at night and biting winds threatening to take her numb nose off, it was so _bloody cold_ that they pitched their tents dangerously close to the fire, huddled around it and wrapped tightly in their bedrolls as they devoured warm stew or cooked rabbit.

She couldn’t even take solace in the fur of her leonine form, since the beast was at home in the lush Donarks. It was ridiculous and she despised every second of it.

She gratefully took her rage out on a set of bounty hunters dumb enough to attack them, shredding their bodies so thoroughly that there was nothing left to salvage when she was finished. Her bear form was much better than anything else she had, with thick, heavy fur and fatty skin, but she couldn’t keep up with her two legged (or even four legged) companions, and fell so far behind she was forced to run, tiring herself out so much she just settled on freezing her poor nipples off.

She rounded a bend, hugging herself and muttering furiously under her breath, until they came to find a clearing, reinforced by the rocky mountain and filled with tents offering wares.

Tsii sighed gratefully, a puff of white surrounding her face because of how _damn cold it was._

She looked about, spotting a man selling poultices and herbs, and another with weapons and armour. Near a ramp wide enough to fit two carriages abreast, a rather untrustworthy looking redhead stood before a rickety tent, peddling wonders and knick-knacks.

Tsii frowned. Didn’t that beggar plundering near Lake Calenhad say something about a “squirrely bastard” who had been heading for Orzammar? Looking over her shoulder, she caught Sten’s eye.

“I think I know where to find your sword,” she said slowly. His eyes lit up, even as his face remained ever stoic and angry.

“Where?” he demanded, and Tsii folded her arms.

“I found a man where you said you dropped it, and he said someone named Faryn took it.” She nodded at the redhead. “I think I just found Faryn.”

Sten set his piercing, cold stare onto the human and strode towards him with huge, ground eating steps. Swearing, Tsii hurried along after him, cursing her smaller legs and making sure to reach the tent first.

Cutting himself off mid-sentence, the man gasped when Sten’s formidable shadow drew across him.

“Ah, I beg your pardon, friend, you…ah…startled me a bit.” He cleared his throat nervously, fear in his eyes. Tsii folded her arms. Squirrely sounded right.

“You’re Faryn, right?” she asked sharply. A flash of panic in the human’s eyes told her that he was, and Sten’s controlled, sharp voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Where is my sword?” he demanded shortly. Tsii could feel the energy he bristled with, every inch of his body tensed and hand hovering by his hip, ready to jump up and grab his sword.

“I…ah…don’t know what you mean, Ser,” Faryn squeaked, backing up nervously and lifting his hands. Sten advanced, stony face betraying no emotion, but his steps were a little less measured than Tsii normally saw, his hand leaping up to his shoulder, the hilt of his borrowed sword inches away.

“I’d give it to him if I were you,” Tsii warned, hoping that Sten held enough respect for her to stay his blade. The Qunari was deathly still, gaze hard and jaw set – he was a vision of restrained fury, a storm held back by little more than a door waiting to be opened. Faryn lifted his hands further, as though he could calm the man, and his voice trembled.

“I…I don’t have it! I swear by Andraste’s knickers! I sold it on the way here!”

Tsii narrowed her eyes, disbelieving.

“That’s _awfully_ convenient,” she said lowly, warningly. A low rumble echoed from Sten, his own deadly warning, and Faryn whimpered like a kicked dog.

“It’s true! Maker, please, you have to believe me!” he insisted. “If I had it, I’d give it to you! I sold it to a dwarf in Refcliffe. Name of Dwyn.”

Tsii considered him for a long moment, wondering if he was brave enough to send them on a wild chase.

“If you’re lying,” she warned darkly, a growl in her voice. “You do know we’ll be back.”

Faryn shivered visibly and clasped his hands together as though praying for her to believe him.

“I’m not, I promise you!” he said, and there was a truth in his eyes. She doubted he was brave enough to lie straight to their faces, and she nodded to Sten, satisfied. The giant hardly seemed pleased, and growled lowly like a displeased lion.

“We’ll see,” he said shortly, turning with all the ease and grace of a snake to meet Alistair and Morrigan. Tsii shot Faryn one more suspcicious look before her attention was caught. Up that wide ramp leading up to a set of doors large enough to fly a dragon through, three humans argued with a dwarf.

Curiously, she approached. Those gigantic, ornate doors could only have been the entrance to Orzammar, but she had heard that they were open more often than not, welcoming traders and explorers to the majestic city.

As she neared, the human spat something angrily and the dwarf lifted a hand in what looked like an angry gesture.

“ _Veata!_ ” he said shortly. “This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time.”

The human growled furiously, fists clenched at his sides.

“King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or Lords or whatever you call them in your Assembly!” he said forcefully. “I am his appointed messenger.”

That gave Tsii pause. King? A civil war wasn’t enough for that traitorous bastard? He needed to take the throne before Cailan’s body was even cold? She tensed, angry, and considered if regicide counted if the so-called “King” was a traitorous stand-in. The dwarf scoffed, folding his thick arms.

“I don’t care if you’re the King’s wiper,” he said, without a care. “Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled.”

Tsii, sensing that they would completely ignore her if she was quiet, spoke up politely.

“I have urgent need to talk to your king,” she said gently, not wanting to aggravate the dwarf or see how skilled he was with the gigantic axe slung across his back. The human scoffed, looking down his nose at her.

“Who doesn’t?” he sneered. “If I don’t get in, no one should.”

The dwarf seemed pleased with her polite tone, and looked at her. She hadn’t seen a dwarf in person before, he was very square, with a flat face, and a large nose. His beard was braided and he may well have been wearing the most beautiful, most intricately crafted armour she had ever seen.

“Orzammar has no King,” he explained, not unkindly. “Enrin Aeducan returned to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war.”

Tsii pursed her lips, slinging her pack off her shoulder and slipping out one of the treaties, bound in an elegant red ribbon.

“I am a Grey Warden,” she explained, proud. “This treaty obliges Orzammar to aid me.”

The dwarf accepted the parchment, untying the ribbon with a gloved hand and unravelling it. Dark green eyes like moss in the shade roved across the runes, and the human beside her looked shocked and offended.

“The Wardens killed Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden!” he spat. “They’re sworn enemies of King Loghain!”

Ignoring him, the dwarf shrugged, peering at the bottom of the treaty.

“Well, that _is_ the royal seal,” he mused, rolling it back up and handing to her. “That means only the Assembly is authorised to address it. Grey Warden, you may pass.”

Tsii smiled thankfully, retying the ribbon around it and slipping it into her pack. The human sounded like he was choking on air.

“You’re letting in a traitor? And a _foreigner_?” he all but roared. “In the name of King Loghain I demand that you execute this… _stain_ on the honour of Ferelden!”

Tsii tilted her head, smirking.

“Run to your false King,” she purred, something within her adoring his shocked, disbelieving expression. “The dwarves will not hear him today.”

“You…you’ll hear of this,” he threatened, but it sounded something like a whine. “King Loghain will see you quartered!”

The dwarf stepped back and nodded at two others behind him, who met in the middle of the gigantic doors, where they clasped sturdy handles.

“You are free to enter Orzammar, Grey Warden,” the leader said, stepping back. “Though I don’t know what help you will find.”

Tsii nodded, thanking him and watched the two other dwarves heave the doors open. They groaned on their hinges, creaking and sliding open to reveal a hall filled with expertly hewn statues of dwarves, lit by majestic pillars with what looked like liquid fire enclosed within.

She was so astounded by the beauty, the perfect craftsmanship she was confronted with that she almost forgot to walk in. She wandered through, trying to take in as much as possible – it was a pleasantly stable warm temperature, and though the stones beneath her feet must have been traversed as often as the Imperial Highway, they were still clearly defined, their geometric patterns sharp and elegant.

As the great doors creaked closed behind them, Tsii turned, catching the human’s furious glare. She shot him a wink and a quick kiss, flipping her hair as she turned back to the hall before her.


	21. The districts of Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii explores Orzammar, including the beautiful Commons and the impoverished Dust Town, meeting dwarves from all walks along the way.

The rest of Orzammar was just as impressive as the entrance hall, if lacking those beautiful, lifelike statues – paragons, the dwarf admiring them had informed her. Considered living Ancestors. Through another set of doors, somewhat smaller than the first, was the single biggest cavern she had ever seen. Larger than she had ever imagined to fit underground, it was spacious, pathways built firmly into the rock suspended above a lake of liquid fire, and the roof was so high she barely felt like she was inside, the top of it layered in darkness.

While she was wondering how dwarves knew what time of day it was, or how they could sleep without the stars above them, a sharp, rough voice drew her gaze. Two groups of men were gacing off, the men at the head of one wearing expensive, well crafted clothes. His grey hair was tied neatly behind his head, his beard braided thrice with two small braids dangling from the corners of his moustache.

“It is the Assembly who makes a King,” he was saying, firmly and confidently. “And a King who nominates his successor. None of it is carried in the blood.”

The other leader sneered at him, a slightly smaller man with short reddish-brown hair, a beard in two large braids with several smaller ones dangling from his chin, and a set of even more intricate, stunning armour than the man at the doors. Compared to this, he had been wearing a leather tunic with holes in it; it featured elegant, sharp patterns along the edges of each piece, a sigil proudly carved into a belt large enough to cover most of his torso, every inch of it polished to perfection.

“Or, as now, when someone tries using the Assembly to pull a coup. Who’s to say what my father said in his final hours when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one by his side!”

He spoke with thinly veiled contempt, and bared his teeth from behind his beard as the first dropped his hands to his side, meaty fists clenched furiously.

“I’ll have you thrown in prison!” he spat, the armoured one stepping closer, hand twitching for the axe slung across his back.

“You’ve bitten off more than you can chew!” he all but roared. Another dwarf nearby folded his arms, elegantly simple steel armour clinking.

“Handlers! Separate these deshyrs in the Diamond Quarter!” he commanded. “I will not have Bhelen incite a riot!”

A fourth stepped out from behind the one who must have been Bhelen, an axe the same height as he in his hands.

“You’ll not speak that way about the man who should be King!” he snarled, sweeping the steel armored dwarf off his feet and slamming the axe into his chest. The blade didn’t slice through the armour, but it buckled under the weight of the swing, crumpling deeply enough that blood splattered out of the dwarf’s mouth, and he twitched a few times before gurgling and laying still.

Looking down in horror, the noble, who she presumed was Harrowmont, backed off, fleeing the scene before Bhelen did, with their respective posses in tow. They left the dwarf laying there on the ground, blood oozing out from under his armour, and Tsii stumbled over to check, laying her fingers against his throat to feel for his heartbeat.

There was nothing, and with a concerned glance at Alistair, she rose, finding another man standing at the entrance to an arching bridge which led to some beautiful building built into the far side of the cavern.

“Veata, surfacer!” he said shortly, in an authoritative voice she guessed was best not to question. “I am bid to let you walk the Commons, but keep your place. Warden or not, I want order.”

He glanced at the dwarf on the ground with that, and Tsii nodded respectfully, not wishing to be on anyone’s bad side when she was asking for help.

“The Blight is coming and I need Orzammar’s assistance,” she explained. He scoffed, folding his arms and scowling.

“Surface problems,” he grunted, “Well, we have no King to hear you. You can join the shouting at the Assembly in the Diamond Quarter, if you want. Bunch of deshyr lords bickering over sand. Bhelen, Harrowmont…is one so different? No paragons here.” He shrugged grimly and Tsii frowned. She had hoped that their lack of a King wouldn’t restrict their ability to help her, but it seemed that Orzammar was in a bad way.

“Sounds like Bhelen and Harrowmont are the ones to be talking to,” she mused aloud. The dwarf grunted.

“They’ve caged themselves for fear of each other. As you’ve seen, keeping order down among us working people is dodgy. No place for a proper Lord. Bhelen speaks through his second, Vartag Gavorn, in the Assembly. Lord Harrowmont speaks through Dulin Forender from his estate.”

Taking his advice gratefully, Tsii bid him farewell and looked about, taking her journal and quill to make a quick sketch of where they were. Turning to the right with no real direction, she met a kind lady who was willing to inform her about the two candidates she would be speaking to, and named all of the doors around them to fill in her map.

She wandered through, hearing a man mumbling to himself about losing nugs while another explaimed at seeing “a real elf”. It made her a little uncomfortable, the thought that everyone’s eyes were on her – or more likely on the giant trailing silently behind her – but she continued through, spotting a bald dwarf guarding an impressive set of wares.

“Greetings!” he said brightly, a wide grin on his face but a disconcertingly far away look in his dark eyes. “And welcome to Garin Garinson’s Luxury Goods Shoppe. Wow, there are a lot of you. And I’ve never seen one of _those_ before. The things they come up with…what was I saying?”

He babbled like a man addled by poisons, dumbly smiling at her as she shifted uncomfortably.

“’Have a look at my shop,’ I hope.”

He planted his hands on his wide hips, stepping back to show off his wares.

“Right,” he said brightly. “I have some lovely things here. L-l-l-l-lyrium enhanced, of course!”

Well that explained a lot. She looked around, admiring the daggers and axes on display, alongside beautiful, but woefully small armour that had no hope of fitting any of them. Along more delicate items was a tiny ring, engravings on the band glowing with inlaid lyrium, an amulet with a chain as fine as hair, and Tsii was distracted by the other jewelry by a hand mirror.

It was a simple, pretty thing, polished glass in a gold frame with simple carvings of vines around it. On the back was a sweet scene of deer and sparrows frolicking among trees, tiny gems laid into their eyes. She purchased it without another thought, remembering Morrigan’s story of the gold mirror she had stolen as a child. Handing over the silver she slipped it into her pack, hoping to surprise the woman later, and also took a new, heavy dwarven sword for Sten, selling his older one and some other gems and interesting items they had picked up since leaving that forest.

Sten’s response to the new sword was grim, displeased. She heard him say something in his native, guttural tongue quietly, only able to pick out the word _Asala_ , and shied away.

“I’m sorry if you preffered the other sword, I thought you liked heavier ones,” she said defensively, earning an even stare.

“Dwarven or human blade, it is of no matter,” he grunted, sliding the sword into a sheath along his broad back. “It is not my _Asala_.”

Tsii frowned, having to crane her neck to look up at the Qunari, but meeting his eyes bravely.

“What does that mean? _Asala_?”

He sighed lowly, looking genuinely upset for a moment, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it – the most emotion she had seen from him was in glimmers, except for his terrible rage in battle, and something so simple, so _human_ like sadness…she had almost forgotten that Qunari feel.

“Soul,” he said simply. “It is my sword, designed for my hand alone. A manifestation of my soul.”

She had never heard him speaking so poetically. She had decided to look for his sword without asking many questions, thinking it was merely a memory of home lost in the barren country he was stuck in. She knew well the dark loneliness that came with homesickness, and hadn’t thought that the sword was _this_ special.

“We’ll find it,” she insisted. “We’re heading to Redcliffe soon and we’ll get your _Asala_ back.”

He grunted quietly, noncommittally, and looked over her head.

“We will see.”

Well she guessed the conversation was over now. Pressing her lips together to prevent herself from saying something that might piss him off, Tsii continued along, spotting an elegant pair of doors with _Diamond Quarter_ engraved in the stone above them. A small, bright female voice called out to her, and she turned curiously to see a young dwarf smiling hopefully at her.

“You look like you’re not from around here,” she said, friendly and sweet. Tsii shrugged.

“You could say that.”

Or you could say she was from the other side of the country in a world so vastly different to Orzammar that she could have fooled herself into thinking she was in the Fade. The dwarf clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Oh, wonderful!” she trilled, her voice so innocently excited it was impossible to not smile at her. “I’ve been trying forever to find someone who really knows the surface world. I-I don’t suppose you’ve heard of something called ‘the Circle?’”

Tsii’s brows shot up curiously.

“The Circle of Magi?” Whatever would a dwarf want with the Circle?

“I’ve been trying to reach someone there for years; I’ve sent missives with every caravan, but I never get a reply. I want to know if they would accept me for study.”

Tsii folded her arms, curious. She knew dwarves couldn’t cast magic, but surely there would be room among those barbarically disfigured mages…

“Why wouldn’t they?”

The dwarf smiled kindly, as though trying to explain an advanced topic to a child.

“No dwarf has ever studied at the Circle of Magi!” she said brightly. “I guess you never read First Enchanter Catthelun’s “Treatise concerning dwarves and the non-heritability of magic.” He tested dwarves from twenty bloodlines, and found they couldn’t perform any level of spell casting, regardless of lyrium exposure or time on the surface. The Circle speculates that lyrium in the Stone shields us from spiritual influences and over time made us immune to them.”

Tsii blinked thrice, she didn’t have the slightest clue who or what that was. After a long moment staring at the dwarf, she shrugged, running her fingers along her scalp.

“Well…I can bring your request to the First Enchanter,” she said. She wasn’t sure why the girl had never gotten a response, but she wasn’t against trying, it was a short fly to the Tower, surely she could spare the two days it would take to grant her wish. She jumped up and down, grinning so wide Tsii could count her teeth.

“That would be wonderful!” she squealed, words tumbling out like a waterfall. “My name is Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith Caste. Tell them I’ve already begun reading the Tevinter Imperium’s “Fortikum Kadab” and it’s just fascinating! Did you know the Imperial Magister Lords once had genealogies of every human family known to produce a mage child?” She gasped, cutting herself off and clapping her hands together with delight. “Oh, I’ll go pack my bags right now! I’ll be waiting by my father’s shop!”

Without another word, she spun on her heel and went sprinting off towards the doors they had entered through. Frowning thoughtfully, Tsii cleared her throat and followed, curious to see the rest of Orzammar.

There was a curious beauty to the place, something in the way they tamed the stone to their will, forcing the jagged, lumpy masses of free rock into solid, straight lines, hard shapes forming their intricate buildings. She took note of a squat building with a sign boasting a pair of mugs brimming with drink, glancing at her journal. Tapster’s Tavern. She stumbled as something in front of her moved and gasped, finding a haggard woman kneeling at a statue of a paragon.

She glanced up at Tsii, revealing dark, drooping eyes and a tired, lined face bordered by long, stringy white hair.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, voice filled with the low nothingness of despair. “Did you have an offering for the Ancestors?” She looked the woman up and down, tilting her head to the side. “Although…” she murmured, not unkindly. “I can’t imagine _your_ ancestors reside in the stone.”

Tsii looked at the statue, the stone depicting a dwarven woman with ornate armour and a tall axe in one hand. The stone was so expertly hewn that Tsii half-expected it to blink, reveal that it was truly alive.

“What are you praying for?” she asked softly, still looking at the statue and wondering if the Ancestors had some kind of mystical ability, to answer prayers. The old woman stood stiffly, knees audibly popping. Even for a dwarf, she was small, hunched as though a great weight sat on her shoulders.

“My name is Filda, widow of Teruck of the Smith Caste,” she said gently, her voice bringing memories of home to Tsii, the Ulisis telling stories by the fire, singing as they wove. “I pray here every day for my son, Ruck.” She sighed wearily. “I only wish I knew whether I should be asking for his safe return or for the Ancestors to accept his soul.”

Tsii frowned, brow furrowed. The woman’s despair was palpable, contagious, it grew in Tsii’s chest. She had the urge to hug her.

“What happened to him?”

Filda looked down, clasping her hands together and pressing her entwined fingers to her lips miserably.

“It was five years ago. He was only a youngster,” she whispered, tears in her croaky voice. “He joined a Deep Roads excursion – the only smith to go with the warriors to repair their arms.” She squeezed her eyes shut, voice cracking. “He was so proud.”

Tsii gave her a moment to conserve herself, biting the inside of her cheek to restrain from hugging the woman. Filda inhaled deeply, eyes still closed.

“He got…separated somehow. When they came home, he wasn’t with them.”

Sucking on her teeth, Tsii couldn’t help herself, she blurted out, “I can look for him!” Without much thought and immediately regretted offering to delve into the godless, dark horrors of the Deep Roads. She had experienced darkspawn tunnels before, they littered the Anderfels and culminated in jagged holes dotting the landscape, where the beasts clawed their way out to defile the land further. Filda offered her a kind, but hopeless smile, looking up to the elf.

“How?” she croaked. “There is no way except to brave the Deep Roads yourself.”

Tsii drew herself up, smiling hopefully. It was her duty now. Maybe she could actually do some righteous Grey Warden-ing, however many months it had been since she actually performed the Joining.

“I’m a Grey Warden,” she said proudly. “That’s what we do.”

Filda’s eyes lit up, a true smile finally creasing her face.

“A Warden!” she gasped delightedly, causing Tsii’s chest to swell with pride, grateful to have met someone as bewitched by Wardens as she had been. “So you _could_ do it! Only Wardens face the Deep Roads without a company backing them. Oh, thank you!” She took two steps forward and slung her arms around the elf’s middle, ducking her head so to not plant it between her breasts. “The Ancestors finally heed my prayers!”

As though she finally remembered herself, she cleared her throat, backing up. With a serene, hopeful smile. “Please. Find me as soon as you return.”

Tsii smiled back, grateful to see the hope on the dwarf’s face, and stepped back.

“I will, I swear,” she said, smiling to herself as she strode past the tavern, scribbling a note down in her journal and step faltering as she found a dwarf wearing Chantry robes, preaching to the uninterested passerby. She was under no illusions, she was aware that one’s race did not define their religion, but between the statues of Ancestors scattered around the city and the faces of the people passing her – caught between bored and irritated – she had a distinct feeling that the Chant wasn’t all too popular.

Towards the end of the path was a staircase, and more buildings. She wandered over curiously, finding a shocking difference between the beautifully hewn buildings of the last district and the crumbling, unkempt ones she now saw, strings of drab, torn laundry strung between pillars and sad, thin dwarves hidden in corners, watching her with shadowed eyes.

Alistair made a displeased noise.

“Let me guess: this is where the poor people live?” he harrumphed. Tsii frowned, confused. Orzammar was a rich city, with hold over a trade linking it to every Chantry in Ferelden. How could there be so many reduced to sitting in the dirt, hugging the last scraps that they had salvaged.

A shout caught her attention, snapped her eyes to the winding path ahead of them.

“There’s a rich one!” A dwarf with a huge black tattoo across his face called, raising an axe. “We’ll get plenty for their kit once we cut them out of it!”

Four more men behind him with similar face tattoos rallied, weapons at the ready, and one of them fell, body spasming as licks of lightning danced along his skin. This gave the others pause, but only for a moment, and they charged all at once, with no tact or skill. She cast her spell, her form becoming large and leonine, her body sleek and silent as she leaped onto the leader, pushing him away from the throng as Sten and Alistair both faced the other two men. A happy bark warned her as Barkspawn joined them, taking the man’s weapon hand in his mighty jaws and crushing it. The dwarf barely had time to scream, as Tsii’s own maw seized his thick throat and bit down, blood filling her mouth and a gurgle erupting from her prey.

She stepped back, displeased that her these people’s first impression of her was turning into a beast they had probably never seen before and murdering a bunch of them, and released her spell, not searching the body. She was sure there were others who would make better use of their gear.

She wandered further through, wary now. Several dwarves spoke up as she passed, commenting on her ears, her magic, her presence. A woman sitting in front of a fire pit looked up at her with a grim half-smirk of someone who had lost much in their life.

“Well, look at that,” she said, tilting her head. “It’s not often ol’ Nadezda sees a fine-dressed stranger here in Dust town. Help a poor cripple?”

Tsii’s hand was already in her coinpurse when she glanced down at the woman’s legs, which were mangled, twisted at odd angles with gigantic mounds of skin on her knees, twisted, gnarled skin of wounds that had been terribly infected and never healed truly. Unable to keep her mouth from hanging open in horror, she passed the dwarf a handful of silvers, makng her eyes light up in joy.

“Here,” she managed to say in shock, “Buy yourself some food.”

Nadezda smiled widely, thankfully as she cradled the coins to her chest.

“You’re as kind as you are beautiful,” she murmured. “I owe you when I get back on my feet…if my feet still worked.”

She laughed humourlessly, glancing around the filthy houses, the destitute inhabitants.

“It takes a stranger to notice how bad things are, huh? No dwarf would lift a sodding finger.” She glanced up at Tsii, as though worried she might take offense. “Excuse my language. What takes you out of the Diamond Quarter, stranger? You got a vice you’re looking for old Nadezda to fill?”

Recoiling in surprise, Tsii quickly changed the subject, trying desperately not to think of what disgusting things the woman may have done for coin in the past.

“What happened to your legs?” she asked, gesturing down at the limbs that were like gnarled roots, twisted and ugly. Nadezda exhaled heavily, looking up with a kind sort of kinship in her eyes.

“I’d say it was an accident, try to get some sympathy coin, but you look like you’d rather hear the truth,” she said slowly, offering a weak half-smile. “I was running protection for the Carta when some guardsman caught me. Duster I was with had coin for a bribe, but I took a stand. Guardsman broke my sodding kneecaps and had me kneel in dung until the infection set in. Never healed proper.”

Reeling, Tsii stared down with wide eyes, mouth falling agape again. She was using a few terms the elf didn’t recognise, but she didn’t need to.

“Can they just _get away_ with that?” she choked out, the burning desire for revenge rising in her throat. Nadezda shrugged hopelessly.

“I don’t know where you’re from, but in Orzammar, casteless have no lineage, so it’s no crime to hurt you. You’re born to wear a branded face in Orzammar and you’ll live your life in Dust Town.”

Casteless? How could they be treated so cruelly? They were just as dwarven as the merchants she had traded with, the nobles she had passed. They bled red blood and thought, _felt_ as much as anyone else.

“What do you mean by “brand”?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to know. Nadezda smirked, but the rest of her face was solemn.

“Means you don’t exist. It tells everyone who sees you not to work with you, not to serve you, and not to care if you’re hurt. The Deep Lords burn it into us the day we’re born, so no one accidentally oversteps her place.”

Tsii felt sick. Her stomach twisted in disgust and bile rose in her throat at the thought that anybody could be treated that way by being born the way they were.

“Why don’t you leave?” she insisted. “Leave Orzammar and make a better life for yourself?”

The woman shrugged without any emotion.

“And what? Drag myself out the gates to freeze? My legs are useless, and there’s nothing I can do for coin.” She settled back, tucking her coins into her ragged shirt and grunting as she lifted her body with her hands.

“Thank you again, stranger, for your kindness,” she said with a small, weak smile, and crawled towards a run-down building on her hands, mangled legs dragging uselessly behind her. It hurt to watch, Tsii’s heart aching for her, and Sten’s low, gravely voice spoke up behind her.

“The dwarves say they have a place, but there is no purpose for these ones,” he mused, as though to himself. “They only have a place if born into it. This is highly ineffective.”

She wondered if Nadezda would have been better off under the Qun. She seemed like she wouldn’t have taken the lack of freedom without a fight, and from what Sten had told her, Qunari didn’t take very kindly to dissent. Another woman spoke up from somewhere behind her, her voice trembling and weak.

“M-m’lady?” it whimpered. “Have you a coin to spare?”

Tsii turned, finding a woman hunched over a small bundle of blankets. She was quite pretty, if thin, with dark eyes and hair which was once braided and cared for lovingly, but was now tangled and free of its binds. Her eyes were desperate, mouth twisted into a depressed line.

“It’s for my son,” she explained, tears in her brown eyes. “He’s sick. He hasn’t any clean clothes to wear, or anything to eat today.” She looked down miserably, as though just remembering. “N-neither have I.”

Tsii padded over to the woman, settling to her knees. The dward wore once decently made robes, now torn and ragged, one sleeve completely torn off to be wrapped around the bundle. Noticing her curiosity, the mother gently shifted the blanket down, revealing a baby’s chubby face and big eyes, a dusting of black hair across its round head.

She smiled down at the baby, fishing out a few sovereigns and placing them covertly in the woman’s thick hand, painfully aware that another, equally desperate dwarf might choose to relieve her of it. She clenched her fist around the gold, smiling up at Tsii and hugged the bundled child closer to her chest.

“Thank you,” she murmured, a kind of intense relief that Tsii hadn’t heard before in her voice. “That a stranger would care so much when my own family barred me from their halls unless I’m willing to…” She cut herself off, tears brewing in her eyes as she buried her face in the baby’s blankets, barely cutting off a sob. “No! I can’t bear to even think of it!”

Tsii tilted her head, not sure what to do with her hands.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, eager to do anything she needed to help. The woman lifted her head, sniffling softly as she shifted her baby, stroking its short hair.

“My name is Zerlinda,” she managed. “I wasn’t always like this. I was born to a Mining Caste family. We weren’t wealthy, but…I never went hungry before. Now it’s all gone. And it’s my own fault, Ancestors curse me, but there’s nothing I can do to set it right!”

Her rambling stopped as the baby babbled softly, and both women stopped to smile down at its innocent sweetness, its meaty fists waving about aimlessly. Tsii reached out hesitantly, unsure if Zerlinda would appreciate her touching the baby, but it wrapped its thick little hand around one of her long fingers, clenching it with all the strength in its little body.

“What happened?”

Zerlinda sighed, stroking the baby’s chubby little cheek.

“I fell in love,” she said wistfully. “He seemed so exotic, you know, tough and smart and never had to bow his head to anyone. He was Casteless, and I think…” she shook her head solemnly. “No, I know he was just trying to father a higher Caste child, so he could petition for status.” She pressed her forehead to the baby’s, pure adoration in every movement she she made. “But our child…was a son, Casteless like his father. My parents disowned me and stripped my Caste from me. Unless I agree to abandon him in the Deep Roads and pretend I never bore him.”

Tsii looked up, shocked. How was this Caste system so important that they were ready to tear families apart, condemn a woman and her son to live in the dirt, with nary a pot to piss in.

“If you’re a miner, why would your son be Casteless?” she asked softly. As she shifted, her braid fell free of her shoulder, and the baby grabbed at the end of her hair, tugging hard enough for her scalp to twinge. She couldn’t help but laugh a little, and the boy laughed in response, a bright, pure sound that melted her heart. Zerlinda smiled briefly at her son, taking his other hand. He looked rather chuffed with himself, his mum’s hair in one hand and a stranger’s hair in the other.

“In Orzammar, lineage is traced through the child’s same-sex parent,” the dwarf explained. “Had my baby been a girl, she would’ve been a miner, like me. But as a boy, he is considered tainted forever by his father’s seed.”

Tsii frowned, wincing a touch as the baby yanked at her hair a bit too hard.

“Isn’t there any other solution?”

Zerlinda nodded grimly.

“Yes. I can become casteless with him, which is what I’ve done.” She glanced up, desperate hope in her dark eyes. “Others have raised children like this, right? Begging for change, sleeping in doorways…”

“Maybe I could reason with your family,” she offered. She didn’t want to think about the sweet little boy growing up like Nadezda or one of the other beggars, or worse, like the thugs that had tried to kill her and her companions on the way in. Zerlinda peered at her, confused.

“Y-you would do that?” she asked softly. “But why?”

Tsii smiled at her, trying to impart some of her own hope onto the woman.

“Nobody deserves to starve,” she said insistently. “Especially a child.”

It was a death she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy, as the body ate itself, wasted away, until their belly bloated and their heart simply stopped. Zerlinda smiled sadly, hopelessly as Tsii tried to pry the baby’s fingers off her braid. He didn’t let go without a fight, and took a few strands as a trophy, clutching them victoriously.

“Then I cannot offer enough gratitude,” Zerlinda murmured. “But I warn you, my father is a stiff-necked man. His name is Ordel and he’s usually at Tapster’s in the evening. I do not think he will listen to you. But…I will wait anxiously to see if you can do what you promise.”

Watching the baby wave her hair about gleefully, gurgling, and Zerlinda chuckled softly, nuzzling the boy’s cheek.

Tsii stood, eager to leave the depressing town, and ignored Morrigan’s muttering about disgusting children on her way. The Captain had suggested she join the shouting in the “Assembly”, and the kind dwarf who had shown her around told her that the Assembly was in the Diamond Quarter she had passed before.

The Diamond Quarter was a level above the Commons they had been in, with even more ornate, beautifully carved buildings and nobles in intricate robes and stunning armour passing on the way to a gigantic staircase in the middle of the curved district. The doors were ornate, _Chamber of the Assembly_ carved above them, and indeed, distantly within was the sound of shouting, voices overlapping and cursing – presumably in dwarven.

A man she recognised form the scuffle that introduced her to Orzammar stepped forward as she entered, bowing his head respectfully.

“Warden, welcome,” he said, almost reverently. “It is always a blessing for Orzammar to host your order.” He put a fist to his chest, bowing. “I am Vartag Gavorn, top advisor to our good Prince Bhelen.”

Tsii bowed in response, smiling. She always appreciated respect for Wardens, even before she had joined their ranks

“I’m Warden Tsiishch’Ili,” she introduced herself proudly, chest swelling with pride at the respect on his face. “A pleasure.”

A single, loud cry of “ _enough!”_ carried through the doors, and with another short sentence, they swung open, a disgruntled dwarf waddling through, rubbing his face as he muttered to himself. Looking up at Tsii tiredly, he sighed.

“I’m sorry. This is the Assembly of the Clans. Only deshyrs and occasional guests of state are allowed in.”

He looked utterly exhausted, tired black eyes set into a drooping face, and a grey beard laced with white braided thrice at his chin. She couldn’t bring herself to be rude, politely informing him of her rank and introducing herself.

He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Forgive me, I am so exhausted,” he said solemnly. “I completely forgot about the message from the gate guard.” He spread his arms out welcomingly, but weakly, tiredness in every fibre of his being. “Welcome to Orzammar, Warden. I hope you can forgive our unrest. The loss of our King has hit us hard. Respect for your role is great, but you won’t receive a proper hearing until we have a King on the throne.”

Right, that thing between Bhelen and Harrowmont. Or was it Bhemont and Harrowlen? Those two unessecarily angry dwarves killing each other at the gates of Orzammar.

“Is there any way I can break this stalemate?” she offered. She didn’t know a thing about politics, didn’t particularly _care_ , but she had a distinct feeling that some heads needed to be knocked together, and that was something she _did_ know about. The tired man shrugged helplessly, linking his hands professionally behind his back.

“I must admit, Warden, I am at a loss, myself,” he sighed. “It lies with Prince Bhelen or Lord Harrowmont, and they are slow to trust anyone in these uncertain times. Dulin Forender, Harrowmont’s man, can be found at the Harromont estate.” He nodded at Vartag. “And I presume you have already met Vartag Gavorn, Prince Bhelen’s second. I only wish there was more I could do for you.”

Tsii shook her head, thanking him for the help regardless and stepped out of the door, instinctively looking at the sky and rubbing her eyes when she remembered the stone roof above her. When did the dwarves sleep? How did they know what time of day it was? Her thoughts were interrupted by a polite, gruff voice, and she looked down at a man in elegant dwarven armour, with bright eyes, an almost fatherly smile and a tangle of wild red hair covering his head and face.

“I heard there was a Grey Warden here,” he said, folding his arms and grinning. “I am Dulin Forender, second to Lord Harrowmont, King Endrin’s own choice as successor.” He bowed deeply and Tsii copied him, unsure of dwarven ettiqute. “Word is spreading that the surface may suffer a Blight. It is shameful we are not in a better position to help,” he said, seeming unfazed by having to look up to see her face. She pursed her lips, if she was going to have to help one of these men become King, she at least needed to meet them first.

“I would like to speak with Lord Harrowmont,” she said politely. Dulin gave her a scouring look, as though assessing her, and spoke carefully.

“In an ordinary time, Lord Harrowmount would be honoured to meet you,” he said slowly. “Unfortunately, we’ve already caught more than one of Bhelen’s spies approaching Harrowmont under a pretense of friendship. So I’m afraid I won’t be able to take your word. If you want to speak to Harrowmont, you will need to prove he can trust you.”

In spite of his polite, careful tone, Tsii cocked a brow, folding her arms. She had literally _just_ walked into the city and she was being accused of being a spy? Did Harrowmont miss the bird on Grey Wardens being politically neutral?

“What do you want me to do, denounce Bhelen publicly?” she asked sarcastically. It seemed to fly above the dwarf’s head, as he smiled thankfully.

“That’s a generous offer.” He said, tilting his head. “If you mean it, you might attend the Proving tomorrow. The deshyrs take it very seriously, and unfortunately, Bhelen found some way to blackmail or intimidate house Harrowmont’s best fighters into stepping down.”

Frowning, Tsii observed the dwarf. He had the air of a protective friend, like Barkspawn defending his human, or his human defending Tsii. It was annoying, but she respected it, and gave in.

“So, what, you want me to enter the proving in Harrowmont’s name?”

Dulin shrugged.

“It would certainly make your loyalties loud and clear.” He pointed out. “Bhelen would never work with anyone who humiliated him in that way. Harrowmont would have no fear of meeting with you then.”

Tsii nodded slowly.

“I want to do some research first,” she warned, not wanting to make the decision until she knew more about the men. “I’ll make my decision tomorrow, and look into the Proving.”

Eyes suddenly becoming shadowed, Dulin gave her a long, hard look.

“As you wish,” he said guardedly. “If you need to find me again, I will wait in the Tapster’s tavern, off the Commons. There is no better place to hear gossip.” He shot her a sly look, stepping back. “Perhaps even word of your victory.”


	22. Witch gone wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii decides to show Morrigan the mirror she bought, and the human is interested in some benefits to their friendship.
> 
> WARNING - IMPLIED UNDERAGE SEX. You can skip this entire chapter if you like. There is no actual smut but if this isn't your jam, I understand.
> 
>  
> 
> Also ignore all of the orphan_account crap I have no idea what I'm doing

Tsii frowned at her wall, shuffling on the hard stone. The bed was a solid slab of rock with thin blankets folded at the foot, hard and uncomfortable. It was a simple little room, with a fireplace and a chest for her belongings, a chamberpot and a cold washbasin – both of which bearing stains she didn’t want to think about.

She grumbled, standing and piling the blankets in front of the fire on her bedroll, poking at the excuse for bedding with her toes. It was still hard, stone much less comfortable than even the hardest dirt, but she still shifted into a lion, nose twitching at the overpowering scent of vomit and shit as she circled, settling down into a ball of fur.

She stared at the flickering flames, idly wondering what they burned without wood, where the smoke went if not into the sky. Her ears twitched and swivelled, restless. Bhelen and Harrowmont…the only logical decision was Harrowmont, wasn’t it? A master of compromise, a will to be fair and just – it seemed that Bhelen was chasing power, with the _mysterious_ circumstances around the death of the other heirs, and surely a power-hungry fratricider would bring nothing but ruin to Orzammar.

She sighed deeply, standing and dexterously opening her pack with her claws. She peeked through boredly, she had finally filled her journal and now had a fresh leather book she had bought from Bodahn before they parted ways outside Orzammar, her other journal still snugly tucked into her pack.

Reaching her paw in, she managed to hook her claws around the stem of the mirror she had bought for Morrigan, and dragged it out, looking down thoughtfully at her furry face, the feline eyes peering back at her with streaks of black fur running from the inner corners like tears. She released the spell, taking the mirror and stroking it, observing her own form.

She didn’t let herself think for too long, jumping up and opening her door. She clenched the gold mirror tightly, happily rapping on the door Morrigan had slipped through earlier.

“Enter.” Her voice was low and bored, and Tsii poked her head in the door, finding the mage seated on the bed elegantly, pulling a comb through her inky hair. Gold eyes flickered open as Tsii hesitated, mouth dry.

“Madame Warden,” she purred lowly, dark lips quirking up into a smirk. “What do you wish of me?”

Tsii cleared her throat, suddenly feeling awfully awkward and out of her league. What _did_ she wish? She could think of a few things, none of which she wanted to say aloud. The human’s eyes dropped to Tsii’s hand and one dark brow quirked up.

“What have you there?” she asked, lowering her comb and tilting her head, impossibly soft hair slipping over her shoulders like ink. “A mirror?”

Tsii cleared her throat, speechlessly stumbling over to the woman and offering her the mirror, which she took, gazing down at the carved scene on the back with wide eyes.

“It is…just the same as the mirror which Flemeth smashed on the ground,” she whispered thoughtfully. “So long ago. It is incredible that you found one so like it.” She glanced up at Tsii, who sat down on the stone beside her. “I am uncertain what to say. You must wish something in return, certainly.”

Tsii chuckled, finally finding her voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a gift, Morrigan,” she insisted. The woman traced her mirror, admiring it for a long moment before she glanced at Tsii.

“You say that as if I should be accustomed to such a thing. I have…never received a gift, not one which did not come at a price. I suppose I should say thank you. For the gift. ‘Tis…most thoughtful, truly.”

Tsii smiled, not sure what to do now, and ran her fingers along her scalp nervously, standing.

“Well…I suppose I should head to bed…” she said idly, looking at her hands and shuffling towards the door. As she reached it, ready to turn the knob and leave for her own room, Morrigan spoke up, assured and low.

“Madam Warden,” she said slyly, causing the elf to turn. “’Tis cold in here, all alone.”

Tsii chewed on her lip, looking over her shoulder and furrowing her brow.

“And…what do you want me to do about it?” she asked. Morrigan chuckled softly, rising and taking a few swaying steps towards her.

“Why…it just so happens that I find you…quite warm,” she purred, tilting her head. Her voice was laden with innuendo, and she licked her light lips. Tsii tasted blood, forcing herself to release her lip as her face warmed, looking the beautiful woman over.

“I might be able to help you with that, then,” she murmured playfully, urging Morrigan closer.

“So you shall join me then?” she hummed. “But whatever shall we do while we wait for it to warm?”

Tsii flashed her a grin, meeting her aquiline eyes and coming almost close enough to touch her nose to Morrigan’s.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

Morrigan accepted that, taking her by the hand and leading her backwards authoritatively towards the bed and spinning her.

“Good,” she purred darkly, shoving the elf down onto the bed. “Then let us waste no more time with foolish talk.”


	23. A king's favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After gaining Harrowmont's trust in the Proving, the FSUS meet the deshyr and learn about his first task for them.
> 
> There's now a twitter account with accompanying art: @dwarven_ass

From the moment she slipped guiltily out of Morrigan’s room that morning? Afternoon? Whenever they woke up, Tsii felt Alistair’s gaze on her back. As she spoke to the Proving Master, wrangled together Harrowmont’s lost fighters, she felt the solid brown eyes burning into her. When she stumbled out of the ring, bleeding and gasping for a drink, he had frowned at her, as though she had betrayed him in some way.

She ignored him, leaping back into the fight until the Proving Master invited her companions in to fight with her in the final round. They padded out onto the dirt floor, into the gigantic arena ringed with fans.

The proving master, stepping up and calling in a booming voice, introduced the fighters. Piotin Aeducan and his four soldiers, fighting on behalf of Bhelen, and Tsii, surrounded with Sten, Alistair, Morrigan and one of Harrowmont’s chosen fighters.

Piotin spoke up, a particularly squat, wide dwarf with hair and beard shaved back to stubble.

“You fight well, but your judgement is questionable,” he roared, more for the crowd than anyone else. “The throne will never leave house Aeducan.”

Tsii tilted her head, smirking.

“Ever seen the inside of a lion?”

Before he could respond, the Proving Master roared the beginning of the fight and there was chaos.

Tsii and Barkspawn screamed into action, both rushing Piotin. Sten and Alistair stormed in on either side, Harrowmont’s fighter on Sten’s right with a maul bigger than his own torso. Ducking under a great swing, Tsii darted around his back in her great lion’s form, leaping onto his back and hooking her thick claws into the crooks of his armour. She peeked over his shoulder, seeing Morrigan lazily throwing fire and ice at the dwarves distracted by her companions.

Barkspawn, mangling the dwarf’s leg sent him tumbling onto his back, and Tsii yowled at the heavy man crushing her. She scrabbled, claws scraping against the steel and almost lost her head to a stray axe (hand still attached) that Sten had separated from its owner. She snarled, seizing the man’s head in her jaws and crushing in that familiar way the cat was designed for.

Screaming, the dwarf thrashed and dropped his axe, switching to a dagger he yanked out of his armour. He managed to get a few solid strikes, long cuts across Tsii’s face and paws, and nearly took her eye out before Sten grabbed the man by the neck, lifting him high above the ground and skewering him like game.

With a thankful yip, Tsii slammed Alistair’s foe to the ground, grabbing his gauntleted hand in her jaws and biting down until the metal buckled and the axe fell from his hand with a bellow of pain and a dull thud. Alistair took advantage, shoving his sword so deeply into the man’s face that it got stuck in the moist, bloody dirt, and he wiggled it for a moment, almost taking her ear off as he swung it towards another dwarf. A body thudded to the ground, somewhere near Sten and a frozen block of what looked like dwarf smacked Tsii in the face. She growled at the shattered remains of the man, grateful for the assistance, but less than pleased about the roaring crowd, thundering voices stinging her sensitive ears.

She looked around for another foe, ears flat against her head, and found none. The bodies of the dwarves were strewn about, bloody and broken, and Harrowmont’s fighter slung his maul across his shoulder with exhaustion, panting and saying something drowned out by the deafening cheers. The Proving Master’s call topped even the crowd, enhanced somehow to roar loud enough that Tsii shrank back, releasing her spell and sticking her fingers into her pointed ears with a pained grimace.

“The winner is the Grey Warden!” he bellowed, quieting the crowd to murmurs. “Congratulations. You defeated the man Prince Trian himself once called ‘the horns of my army’.” He threw his arms out theatrically, turning to the crowd. “Do any deny this Grey Warden has earned the championship?”

There was a resounding, almost painful silence in the arena, and Tsii checked over her companions, Sten’s blood-splattered sword was still warily gripped in his large hand while he stood, still and unfazed. Alistair was trying his best to look imposing and proud, but his bloody hand was sneakily scratching Barkspawn between his upright ears, occasionally taking an ear in his hand and stroking it softly. The dogs tongue lolled out, his ass wagging like crazy and a dumb, happy grin baring his blunt teeth as he enjoyed the affection.

Morrigan flashed her a knowing smirk, and Tsii’s cheeks felt warm, running her nails along her scalp as she cleared her throat nervously, shooting fleeting glances at the beautiful human, her slender, feminine body, her soft lips…

“Then, it is my honour to declare this Grey Warden Champion of the Proving,” the Proving Master roared, making Tsii jump and look up at him. “Who has shown that the ancestors favour Lord Harrowmont!”

A deafening cheer erupted around them, the crowd stamping their feet and hollering, and Tsii turned as the gates leading out of the arena swung open with a groan. Even outside, the cheering was audible, and Tsii held her head, sighing. She would have appreciated even the _slightest_ bit of warning before that bloody dwarf shouted her sensitive ears off, but didn’t make fuss.

Even when she wasn’t tired, Tapster’s was an unpleasant place, with drunken dwarves singing and swaying, and the smell of vomit and booze stinging her nose. She looked about for Dulin’s unmissable hair, and her eyes fell on a stout, sour dwarf nursing a tankard. His dark eyes were somewhat familiar, and Tsii peered at him for a time curiously until he shot her a glare.

“What are you looking at, stranger?” he said gruffly, and Tsii folded her arms, frowning.

“Are you Ordel?”

Zerlinda had said something about him being in Tapster’s, and those eyes were so very like the woman’s. He scowled, taking a deep drink.

“I could be,” he grumbled. “What business is it of yours?”

She grit her teeth, storming up to the table and covering the mouth of his tankard as he went for another drink. He glared up at her, lips twisted angrily and looked like he was about to snap at her when she interrupted him.

“If you don’t take Zerlinda back, she’ll die,” she snarled. Ordel’s brows drew together and he switched between a miserable frown and a furious scowl.

“What? You think she’d die just to keep that thing?” he asked softly, suddenly switching to anger. “She knows what she has to do to come home.”

After a long moment, he sighed, Tsii releasing the tankard as he pulled it towards him, staring into its depths.

“I never wanted her gone, just the little cur,” he grumbled, glancing up for only a second. “Can’t she see she’d have a better life if she got rid of it?”

Tsii leaned in, braving the reek of alcohol and looking into his dark eyes sincerely.

“Could you pretend your child never existed?”

He sighed again, rubbing his face miserably.

“I’ve been trying. It’s not as easy as I thought,” he finally said, running his thumb along the handle of the tankard. “Look, just tell her…we never meant to hurt her. It just seemed best that…” He stopped and shook his head. “Oh, just tell her to come home. Her mother and I are waiting for her.”

Tsii smiled, elated. If only she could do this for every dwarf in Dust Town. She left him to his drink, skirting around the limp body of a red haired dwarf that wasn’t Dulin.

She found him seated at a table with a tankard, watching two men on a carved-out stage sing. His eyes lit up when he saw her, a wide grin showing more teeth than a shriek.

“Atrast vala, Champion,” he crowed proudly, leaping to his feet. “I hear your performance in the Proving was nothing short of amazing!”

Unsure of what to say, Tsii nodded and Dulin drained his tankard.

“There can no longer be any doubt where your sympathies lie. If you’re ready, Lord Larrowmont is eager to meet you.”

She gestured to lead the way and he did, kicking the passed out redhead out of his way and muttering something that sounded personal before throwing the door open with a loud thud.

Alistair was loud and joyous, humming as though deep in thought.

“I spy with my little eye, something that begins with... ‘G.’”

Sten groaned softly, and Tsii peeked over the shoulder to find him speeding up, as though to close the gap to speak with her. Alistair trotted to keep up, looking up at the Qunari expectantly until he folded.

“Is it a Grey Warden?” he grunted. “Is it, in fact, you?”

Alistair gasped in surprise, making Tsii laugh under her breath as she continued to follow the dwarf.

“Oooh. You're really good at this!”

Sten released an irritated, put-upon sigh, and Morrigan chuckled as well, muttering under her breath.

Harrowmont’s estate was a short way up the stairs into the Diamond Quarter, a brilliant, elegant place of marble and stone, paintings of generations gone by hung on the walls and perfect, pure stone underfoot. It was not overly large, and she was led to a door, which Dulin opened dutifully to reveal a study, a gigantic fireplace silhouetting a small, bulky figure gazing deep into the flames.

She stopped, looking him and the room over carefully. Lace gold dividers and decorations littered the room, the shelves were stacked to bursting with books and an unnecessarily large desk sported a quill from a bird she had never seen before and stacks of papers covering the stone.

“I appreciate what you have done, Warden, and I apologise for putting one of your rank through such trials.” Harrowmont spoke up, his words measured and calm. He turned to look at them, the fire shooting gold through his white hair.

“I am Lord Pyral Harrowmont and I thank you for your efforts to help me preserve King Endrin’s throne.”

Tsii stepped up, not sure if she was supposed to bow or shake his hand or something. She was equally curious about his thoughts on this King business, having made her decision but still wondering.

“Why would Endrin prefer you over his own son?” she finally asked.

Harrowmont sighed deeply, looking at her feet for a long moment.

“You may not know the story” he said slowly. “But Bhelen is actually the youngest of three. Endrin’s eldest, Trian, was murdered in the Deep Roads not a year ago.” He began to pace, turning this way and that as he spoke. “His middle son was found standing over the body and was exiled, but I’ve always found it suspicious that Bhelen knew just where to look. Endrin loved his sons too much to voice such suspicions, but he knew Bhelen’s only interest in ruling was to further his own power.”

“Bhelen’s men say you planted those suspicions,” she pointed out. He nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

“Yes…Bhelen resents me because I did not believe his set-up. I wanted a full investigation, a trial, not this knee-jerk reaction.” He continued pacing, looking up at her every now and again. “It speaks poorly of Bhelen that Endrin himself was the first to think he should not be trusted.”

“You believe you’d be a better king?”

Harrowmont stopped again, as though he didn’t expect the question, and didn’t answer for a long moment.

“I have never sought the throne,” he finally said, meeting her eyes honestly. “My role was to serve Endrin, first as his advisor, then as an elected deshyr in the Assembly.” He shook his head, a sad smile curling the corner of his lips.  “A Harrowmont has never been King and I always assumed Trian would rule after his father. But both Endrin and my colleagues have asked me to step up, and I will not back down when Orzammar needs me."

The state of the city was confusing to say the least. The treaties required the King, but the Assembly was the only one that could see her regarding them?

“Does the Assembly has more power than the King?” she asked, rubbing her eyes confusedly. She missed the simplicity of her tribe’s law, the oldest and wisest of them being the one to make decisions advised by whichever spirit chose to share their body.

“The Assembly represents the voices of the wisest, most noble families,” Harrowmont explained. “While we need a single King to preside over important functions and lead us in battle, the Assembly better represents all in Orzammar.”

Why it needed to be so complicated, she had no idea. Why not simply ask the people what they wanted? Who was there to represent those in Dust Town, or the merchants in the Commons? She sighed, folding her arms.

“All I want is your support against the Blight,” she said simply. “How it is gained isn’t important.”

“For us, the darkspawn are a constant menace, so a Blight may not elicit the same urgency you are used to.” Harrowmont’s voice was kind, understanding. She could understand why he was so popular, with his charismatic words and trustworthy eyes. “Ultimately, the Assembly decides what troops to send. If they no longer fear civil war, they’ll have no reason to hold back. If you want my support to count, I will have to be King, and right now, there is no way to get there.”

He strode towards his extravagant desk, shuffling through some papers.

“Have you heard of a woman named Jarvia and the criminal carta she runs?”

Tsii grit her teeth. The same name a bunch of thugs had been threatening an innocent wine merchant with. She had hoped she’d run into the carta and…speak with her. She took the paper as Harrowmont approached, barely glancing at the sketch.

“I take them out, you take the credit? Is that the plan?” she asked shortly. She had been hoping that Orzammar wouldn’t be a long trip, she still had to head for Redcliffe, somehow track down a Dalish clan and figure out a way to deal with Loghain. Harrowmount’s heavy brow furrowed, thin lips twisting in confusion.

“I’m…glad you’re so eager.” He said, withdrawing his hand. “If you help me shut her down, we can show the Assembly I am the right King to defend Orzammar.”

Tsii nodded, she supposed Kings weren’t really known for going out and fighting on their own. Glancing at the page she found neat, practised handwriting detailing Jarvia, her location in Dust Town, who to ask and to not show mercy, because she wouldn’t.

“I’ll go right now,” she suggested. Harrowmont gave her a smile and a short bow – of thanks, she presumed.

“There are spare bedrooms in my estate,” he explained, spreading his arms welcomingly. “It would be an honour to have yourself and your companions as guests while you are in Orzammar.”

Not sure how to respond, Tsii scratched her head and thanked him slowly. Anything was better than Tapster’s, she supposed. Harrowmont linked his hands behind his back, looking up at her hopefully.

“Do this and I promise if I take the throne, I will not stop until the Assembly sends your troops,” he professed. “Look for Jarvia in Dust town. Do whatever it takes to see that justice is served.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. With a short nod and a gesture to her friends, she was storming out of the estate. She knew who to go to first.


	24. Jarvia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Harrowmont's orders, the FSUS raid Jarvia's hideout, and Tsii sustains the most fun wound of her life; a punctured lung :)

Peering at the dwarf, Tsii smiled, dropping to her knees. Zerlinda looked up with her eyes wide, worried.

“Y-you’re back,” she whispered. “I thought you weren’t coming. What did he say?”

“Your father wants you to come home,” she said, glancing down at her bundle of blankets. “Both of you.”

Tears sprung to Zerlinda’s dark eyes immediately and her voice cracked.

“Both of us? I don’t believe he said that,” she said gently, looking down at her boy and running a thick finger along his soft cheek. “I’ve never heard him refer to my son as anything but trash. He calls him “it”!”

After a moment, she wiped her tears away on her shoulder, smiling at her child and then Tsii.

“But maybe…maybe mother convinced him, or you did.” She stood, cradling her son and not bothering with the tears streaking down her cheeks now. “Oh, my friend, I cannot thank you enough! If this were a story, my son would grow to manhood and pledge himself as a knight in your service! When he grows up, I will send him to you. I promise!”

Tsii laid a hand on the woman’s arm, smiling reassuringly.

“Don’t worry about that,” she murmured softly. “Go back to your family.”

The dwarf waddled away, clutching her son to her chest and weeping audibly. Tsii watched her go, smiling. All she could hope was that the pair could live long and happily together, that they would never have to go hungry again.

Behind her, a familiar voice chuckled.

“Didn’t get enough of the architectural beauty of Dust Town?” it asked slyly. “You need ol’ Nadezda to play tour guide?”

Tsii turned, looking at the woman. She had returned to her spot before the large fire, mangled legs displayed in front of her like a sign declaring her despair. She looked up with the tired eyes of a broken woman, as though aware that there was no easy fix for her, she couldn’t simply talk her way out of the awful situation she had been delegated to at birth.

“Know anything about the carta?”

Nadezda smirked, a low, humourless chuckle escaping her lips.

“Know it? I lived it, my friend, and let me tell you, it’s worse now than in my day. Jarvia took over the carta not more than a year ago, and already she’s got every duster with both legs bearing swords for her.”

Tsii sat in front of her, feeling like standing was just reminding the poor woman of her own unsalvageable legs

“Does the carta have a base anywhere?”

Zadezda hesitated, thin lips twisting.

“They do,” she said slowly. “But it’s not easy to find. Jarvia’s got real paranoid. She’s got carta members all carrying these finger-bone tokens.” She made a writing motion with her fingers, against her hand. “She scratches some mark into them, so she’ll know they came from her. There’s doors to her base all over the city, but only one is ever open at a time, and if you show up without a token, you’d never know it was there.”

Tsii glanced around fruitlessly, as though she could find the hidden doors with a look.

“Where do I find one of these tokens?” she asked. Nadezda shrugged, leaning back on her hands.

“Can’t help you there, _salroka_. The carta members keep them real tight.” She cleared her throat lowly, peering up at Tsii hopefully. “But…that’s worth something, right? Maybe just a little…”

Releasing a long breath, Tsii fished out a few sovereigns, tucking them into her meaty fist with a gentle smile.

“Thank you for your help,” she said softly. Nadezda smiled, clutching the gold tightly, as though afraid someone would take it from her hand.

“I’ll think of you when I go to bed with a full stomach,” she whispered hoarsely, cradling the coins like Zerlinda cradled her child. Tsii stood, glancing around. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to be looking for.

After speaking to a woman whose dress was so low her nipples nearly popped out when she arched her back, and watching her expression go from flirtatious to frightened at the mere mention of Jarvia, Tsii turned her attention to a battered old house that looked like far too many people lived in it at once.

Pushing the ajar door open, she stepped in, only taking in the cracked, dirty furniture and stink of booze and shit for a moment before a sturdy dwarf sneered at her.

“Well, look what we have here…”

Tsii’s eyes snapped to him, already gathering the Fade around her in preparation. He was armoured in tattered leather, a bold tattoo covering his entire face and a huge axe in his hand. Another dwarf beside him stepped forward, an equally large and dark mark under both eyes and up his nose. His maul was so large it looked ridiculous beside his small head, and he grinned, showing off a blackened, dirty mouth that was missing a few teeth.

“Jarvia said you were looking for trouble,” he spat. “Congratulations, you found it.”

“Oh good!” Tsii chirped brightly, twisting the Fade and managing a final comment before her mouth formed a muzzle. “Nice to meet you, Trouble!”

As a bear, her shoulders were nearly two men wide, she was as tall as a human at the withers, towering over them on her hind legs, but the dwarves were tiny, barely the size of one of her gigantic arms. Behind her, Alistair laughed and asked if they should even bother helping when she batted one of the men to the size like a fly, hearing him crumple against the wall with a groan. Barkspawn ran over to finish him off eagerly, and the dwarf with the axe swung uselessly at her, fear crossing his face as she swatted it away without effort, claws scraping along the blade with an ear rending screech.

An arrow whizzed past her head – only one, as a response came with a crack of lightning and the smell of burnt flesh, Morrigan pumping one man full of so much electricity that his body burst, chunks of flesh exploding across the room.

Picking up the dwarf with the axe in her mouth, Tsii threw him, weaponless to the side, hearing Sten shout something that sounded like a curse in his language. She bore down on the leader, deftly avoiding his heavy swing and sinking her teeth into his arm. He bellowed, her sharp teeth burrowing deep into his skin and flesh and her neck twisting to and fro to tear it off.

His other hand beat uselessly against her back, thumping wildly against hard muscle as he screamed. She released before his arm was torn in half, dragging his maul away and slamming him to the ground, her lips lifting to bare her long fangs. She released a ground-shaking roar into his face, his hands leaping up in an attempt to shield it – perhaps as much from the foaming saliva as the large fangs.

“D-don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!” he yelped, trying to shrink away. She stilled, letting him kick away and stumble to his feet. “Sodding ancestors, what do they teach you on the surface? You fight like a bleedin’ archdemon!” He looked about, at what was left of his companions; the body crumpled on the ground like a discarded shirt, face completely missing and hands and feet reverted to stumps of bone, flesh stripped away, the blood splattered on the floor – what was left of Morrigan’s work, the one cleaved in half from neck to navel, and then his own mangled, twisted mess of flesh, the remains of his arm.

“Sweet bloody Stone, look at them all!” he muttered, almost to himself. Tsii released the spell, teeth still bared as she rose to her feet, slipping her favourite dagger out from its sheathe and advancing with a snarl almost as ferocious as that of the bear.

“Tell me how to find Jarvia, or you join them!” she spat, brandishing her weapon. He raised his hands again, trembling, and the words spilled out of his mouth like vomit, thoughtless and terrified.

“The base is below the city. Y-you can get to it through the wall of the third house on this row.” He stuffed his good hand into his armour, yanking out a thick bone and offering it to her in his palm, like he was giving food to a predator. “Put this token through the slot and it’ll open.” He looked her up and down, cradling his ruined hand to his chest. “Will…will you let me go now?”

Tsii flashed him something between a scowl and a smirk, baring her teeth like an animal.

“Yes. And you don’t want to be at Jarvia’s when I get there.”

He looked shocked, as though he hadn’t expected that answer, and released a long, shuddering breath.

“R-really? Oh, thank you. You’re a… a good person.” He glanced down, at her feet. “How do they say it? The Ancestors have shown their favour. Bless you!”

He scurried out of the house, arm cradled to his chest, and Tsii let him go for a moment before stalking out after him, rolling the bone between her fingers. The door she had been pointed to looked seamless, solid, the only imperfection was a single fold in the stone, a tiny slot at her hip.

After it swung open, letting her into the stone passageway, she was surprised to find it empty. The lack of people was made up for shortly, when a doorman demanded a password, and she dispatched of him, and another four marked dwarves, enjoying their taunting as it morphed into fear, agony. It happened throughout the hideout, those cocky little bastards realising that a Grey Warden made for a much harder hunt than innocent merchants they could just flash their blades at.

She wondered if most of them had ever seen a lion before; if the sleek beast roaring through their hideout, shredding their defences and their bodies was as new to them as the idea of someone fighting back, her deafening roar rocking the Stone they so loved to curse her by.

She inhaled deeply behind the door, glancing at Alistair. He looked back for a long moment, peering at her in apparent confusion before he looked back at the door again, realisation crossing his face.

“ _Oh_ ,” he said aloud, before snorting. “You know, you could have chosen an animal with opposable thumbs.”

She blinked up at him, ears twitching skeptically and he shrugged.

“I don’t know…a monkey or something?”

Tsii snorted, tail twitching as she jerked her head back to the door, which he chuckled before opening for her.

The woman from the sketch stood before her, arms folded, a sneer on her face. She looked ready for a speech, to say something about Harrowmont, or her power, or something of the sort, but Tsii didn’t give her the pleasure, roaring over her words and bounding over a tripwire. The dwarf swore, stumbling back and completely disappeared, as though she had never been there. Whirling, Tsii’s ears pricked up, straining for footsteps among the shouts and yelps of battle.

A snarl came from Sten, calling Tsii’s attention, and suddenly, a dwarf was there, a dagger slipped between the plates of his armour. The giant didn’t miss a beat, grabbing the small man by the neck and slamming him into a wall, ramming his sword so deep into his body that the man slid down to the hilt. Grunting powerfully, the Qunari swung his sword, throwing the bloody body into another assassin, who had just appeared near Tsii.

Jumping onto the downed assassin, she wasted no time in fastening her jaws around the back of his neck, jerking her head and listening to the muffled, wet crack of his spine breaking. She abandoned his body alongside his comrade’s, hearing Alistair yelp as he tripped on a wire, his armour clang as he fell to the ground, and a fireball lit up the room as the wire set off a trap.

Jarvia appeared above Alistair’s prone body, daggers raised in the air and Tsii yelped, running close to the ground, nimbly leaping onto the dwarf and shoving her to the stone. She copped a stab deep into the muscle of her back, pain blooming through her entire right side, and the bitch twisted her dagger, making Tsii yowl. The dwarf sneered as her other arm was pinned, keeping her second dagger down and away from Tsii’s body, but she used her long legs, stretching up until Jarvia’s short arms could barely hold onto the dagger. She strained, wheezing in pain as the dagger shifted, the dwarf tried to drag it down and widen the wound.

Apparently her vanity overruled her common sense – the armour she wore was cut low, breasts pushed up and neck bared but for a strip of leather wrapped decoratively around her throat. It left her vulnerable, open to Tsii’s fangs. She lunged down, fastening her mouth around the dwarf’s throat and sinking her teeth in, blood spurting into her mouth. Jarvia gurgled, managing to drag her dagger down, spreading the wound open painfully.

Almost choking on the blood in her mouth, Tsii squeezed tighter, locking her jaws the way the lion was designed for and jerking her head back with one powerful yank. The woman spasmed, legs flailing and dagger twisting painfully into Tsii’s flesh as the metallic scent of blood filled her sensitive nostrils. Her fangs tore the dwarf’s skin and flesh, ripped it open with a sickening tearing sound, which was followed by a soft gurgle.

She wheezed, the blood matting her furred muzzle, and looked about with perked ears. It was eerily quiet now, the din of battle settled. The dwarves were either dead or gone, it was curious how quickly they fled when Jarvia’s body lay beneath a lion, the stone leeching out what was left of her body heat.

She used a dexterous paw to pull the dagger out of Jarvia’s limp hand, and hooked her teeth around the tough, leather-wrapped hilt. The very air touching her bared flesh stung like fire, and she bit down on the dagger, weakly waddling towards Alistair. It felt like one side of her chest had been crushed, even the underside, far from the wound throbbed. Every deep breath made her cough, flooding her with more pain, and she grunted painfully to grab the other Warden’s attention, which had been stolen by Barkspawn.

The pair of warriors didn’t look too badly scratched up – one of Barkspawn’s tall, upright ears had been clipped and was bleeding, but he didn’t seem to mind, and Alistair sported an impressive splatter of blood across his breastplate, which was pretty certainly not his. He looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrows jumping up and cursing.

“Maker, Tsii! You’re growing wings!”

A put-upon groan that sounded suspiciously like Morrigan resounded behind her, and Tsii snarled as best she could, her lungs failing her. Turning properly with _actual concern_ this time, Alistair squatted to inspect her wound.

“It’s going to hurt,” he warned. Tsii growled warningly, leaning towards him to urge him to fucking _do it_ , and he grabbed the dagger, yanking it out with one, powerful pull. Tsii yelped, digging her claws into tiny cracks in the stone below her to distract herself. Her back was very wet now, she could feel the fur sticking to her skin, the blood hardening and drying in the air, and she stepped back, inhaling deeply and immediately regretting doing so as coughs wracked her feline body.

Clenching the dagger between her teeth and switching to short, shallow pants, she released the spell, yowling as her organs rearranged, her weakened lung shifting and open skin stinging. Pushing herself unsteadily to her feet, Tsii pulled the dagger out of her mouth and dropped it.

“Really regretting not taking Wynne with us now,” she ground out, clutching at her chest. It was a painful, uncomfortable feeling, like someone was sitting on one side of her chest, preventing her from breathing in.

“Right, going to need a buddy and a _really_ fucking powerful poultice,” she warned, looking about for volunteers. After a long moment, Morrigan sighed again and sauntered towards them.

“Carry her,” she commanded Alistair aloofly, “I have healing herbs back in that atrocious Tavern.”

Alistair grumbled something under his breath and Tsii shot him a glare.

“Ali,” she said as sharply as she could with one lung. “Can you just help me walk?”

Grumbling ever more, the human relented, tucking a hand under her back and holding her close to his body. His hard metal plate was uncomfortable, jabbing into her, but when she slung her arm over his tall shoulders, wheezing in pain, he took her weight, and she could focus on trying to breathe.

As the pair of them limped past the dwarf Sten had thrown off his sword, Tsii smirked wryly.

“That was a nice shot,” she said over her shoulder to the silent warrior. He scoffed emotionlessly, only sparing the pair of corpses a glance.

“Perhaps if their warriors were larger than children, they would not be so easy to throw,” he grumbled. Alistair snorted.

“You’re like, twenty feet tall! Everyone is child-sized to you!”

Tsii only managed a short snort of laughter before painful coughs slammed into her, and Sten sniffed.

“That is inaccurate.”

“It was a _joke_ ,” he whined, shooting the giant what was probably a less than threatening glare as he opened a door into a dirt passageway. Sten hummed thoughtfully.

“Curious. I was under the impression that jokes were supposed to be humorous.”

 Alistair paused, turning completely – Tsii alongside him – to look at Sten.

“Did you just sass me?” he asked, bewildered. When the Qunari did not answer, only offering a quirk of one white brow. Alistair turned to look at Tsii, mouth agape.

“He sassed me!”

Tsii winced, nodding.

“Yeah, I heard. Let’s put it in the history books later, this whole ‘not breathing’ thing is a lot less fun than it looks.”

Sighing as though _he_ was the one having trouble, Alistair turned them again, waddling through the passageway.

She didn’t particularly feel like sassing the dwarf who shrieked when they appeared through his wall, nor a drunken dwarf laughing about “lightweight knife-ears” as Alistair helped her limp through the tavern into Morrigan’s room. The witch swept past them elegantly, rummaging through the chest at the foot of her bed and sitting beside her on the bed with a half-bowl, a mortar and pestle, and a few hemp bags which rustled with the sound of dry leaves.

She ordered Tsii to roll onto her belly, and she obeyed, coughing painfully. There was a long pause before Morrigan spoke up.

“You can leave now,” she said slowly, as though talking to a child. Alistair audibly hesitated, and Tsii turned her head to see him looking back and forth from her to Morrigan. She smiled dryly.

“Go and get something to eat. I’ll shout if she starts to pull my spine out.”

Morrigan gave a soft “humph,” of what was presumably amusement from above, and Alistair frowned, creeping out the door.

The whispery noises of leaves and herbs being shuffled around filled her pointed ears, the soft grind of stone on stone relaxing her with its monotony.

“Morrigan?”

She hummed to show attentiveness, seemingly engrossed in her work.

“Is Flemeth really what she seems to be?”

The human chuckled lowly, the sound throaty and wry.

“Well that depends, does it not? What does she seem to be?”

Tsii snorted shallowly, inhaling as best she could as her chest ached.

“A nutty old bat.”

Morrigan surprised her by erupting into laughter, far more genuine than anything Tsii had heard from her before. She peeked over her shoulder, breasts already beginning to ache from being pressed against the hard stone. The human had stopped what she was doing, true amusement on her face as she covered her mouth – it was a good look for her.

“Sometimes I do wonder the very same thing,” she said breathily, flashing Tsii a stunning smile. “Tell me: how much do you know of the tale? The one that the Chasind still tell of my mother, to frighten them into obedience?”

Tsii pressed her lips together, she had heard the name ‘Chasind’ before, but only in relation to the woman who had returned to grinding, occasionally glancing at her before returning to her work.

“I didn’t even know there was such a thing,” she admitted. Morrigan stopped again, looking at her and sighing in realisation.

“Ah! I see. That does explain much.”

Tsii frowned curiously, not entirely sure what it explained, but Morrigan had already continued, speaking with the familiarity of one who was reciting a legend passed down many times.

“I can relay what Flemeth once told me, herself. And you can decide whether or not ‘tis the truth, if you so desire.”

Tsii urged her on with a hand, and her voice faded as she stood, filling the bowl with some kind of liquid.

“As the tale is sung by the bards, there was a time when Flemeth was young and beautiful. A fair lass in a land of barbarian men, the desire of any who saw her.”

Tsii snorted.

“Just how long ago is this?”

Instead of laughing again, Morrigan continued seriously, soft voice _designed_ for telling tales.

“Many centuries,” she said, returning to the bed. “Before this land was even named Ferelden. The tales say that Flemeth fell in love with Osen, the bard, and fled the castle of her husband, the dread Lord Conobar, and that he swore vengeance for her infidelity.”

There was a crackle of crumpling herbs, the human grinding once again.

“In truth, my mother claims that ‘twas Osen who was her husband, and Conobar the jealous Lord who looked on from afar,” she explained, voice low and ensnaring. “Lord Conobar approached young Osen and offered him wealth and power in exchange for his lovely wife. And Osen agreed.”

Tsii frowned, glancing over her shoulder again.

“Flemeth must have been angry.”

Piercing gold eyes locked onto hers, her long, elegant lashes brushing her cheeks when she blinked.

“The life of a bard is a poor one,” she said, “and love fades in the wake of hunger. ‘Twas Flemeth who suggested the arrangement. All would have been well had Lord Conobar kept his end of the bargain. But he was a foul man who bargained with coin he did not possess. Osen was led off to a field and slain, left for dead. Flemeth spoke to the spirits and learned of the deed, and swore revenge.”

“So she truly loved Osen, then?”

It was sad to think of sacrificing oneself for one’s lover to have a happy life, only to find them murdered, it made Tsii’s heart ache. Or perhaps that was just her lung.

“That was not the point,” Morrigan pointed out shortly. “Conobar had no honour, so she would not have him. FLemeth begged the spirits to aid her and ‘twas they who slew Conobar. The demon the legend tells of came later.”

The wet, squishing sound of her mixing the poultice paused for a moment, perhaps the woman was measuring some ingredients.

“Lord Conobar's allies chased Flemeth, you see. Chased her to the Wilds and there she hid. There she found the demon and he made her strong. The legends all speak of the great hero Cormac, he who defeated Flemeth and her great army when she invaded the lowlands centuries later. All lies.”

Tsii rolled her eyes, unsurprised that the crazy woman had a deal with a demon. It was a rare person who could walk among spirits without their mind being addled by their world.

“Of course Flemeth would say that,” she mumbled.

“You would be surprised at how little my mother cares what I or others think of her past. The truth of the matter is that there was never an invasion. As Flemeth tells it, the Chasind never raised an army under her banner and she never fought with any warrior named Cormac.”

She finished mixing and set aside the mixer, not warning Tsii before she stuck her fingers deep into her wound. She wheezed, what might have been a scream if she was breathing properly, and her fingers curled into fists at her sides, cursing breathlessly in her native tongue. Morrigan continued without pause, as though she hadn’t even noticed her pain.

“Cormac led a brutal civil war against his own people, and later claimed it was to vanquish evil that had taken root amongst the Lords. Thus he was hailed a hero. Flemeth was only attached to the legend much later. Perhaps ‘twas due to the great war with the Chasind that eventually came, but mother claims not to know how it began.”

Trying to remain still and gritting her teeth against the soft fingers stroking her stinging flesh – it felt as though she had just stuck another knife in and was fishing around – Tsii managed to speak.

“Do you believe her version?” she ground out. She wanted to throw up, the feeling of cold, smooth fingers stroking her insides made her shudder and cough, even as warmth followed their path, the gentle, drugging warmth of sunlight touching her skin, the sweet touch of healing herbs.

“I do not believe everything that Flemeth claims. Oft it seems her bitterness has coloured her memories. But on the whole? Yes. I believe this tale, if not all.”

Though the tear in her lung must have been healed, it still would not inflate, and Tsii still wheezed weakly.

“Thank you,” she bit out. “For the story.”

Morrigan paused for a long moment, fingers lifting out of Tsii’s wound for a second only to dip back in, running along the jagged sides of her flesh. After a long moment, Tsii could inhale properly, and she did so warily, certain that a thin membrane had formed over the hole in her back and not wishing to tear it.

“Flemeth tells it with far more embellishment than I,” Morrigan was saying, fingers migrating outwards, towards the broken skin. “But you are welcome. Dare I ask of your own mother? Few are abominations of legend, ‘tis true, but I find myself curious nevertheless.”

Tsii paused, pressing her lips together. She didn’t speak for a long time, until Morrigan’s fingers traced along smooth skin, level with the rest of her back. She sat up, grunting as her stiff belly ached, but refused to look at the human, who waited patiently, clearly made more curious by her hesitation.

She inhaled deeply, treasuring the sweet, filling feeling of both lungs working together.

“My mother died when I was very young,” she finally said, running her fingers through her hair, tracing her nails along her scalp over and over again. “My father cared for me when I was young, and I love him very much…but in my tribe the children are raised by the _Ulisi_.”

She frowned, avoiding the woman’s gaze as she tried to translate it.

“They’re…uh, shit, they’re…like grandparents, but for all the children, and not all of them are actually grandparents.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. She hadn’t had trouble with translating from Kwanitan to Common in years.

She finally looked back at Morrigan, who didn’t look like she had been listening. There was a faraway look in her eyes, like she was deep in her own mind.

“I…see,” she finally said distantly, only embarrassing Tsii evermore. She probably didn’t really want to hear about the intricacies of her tribe’s ways, a people she had never heard of, only met one of, and was unlikely to ever see. When she still said nothing, Tsii gave up on controlling her impulses, ducking in to kiss the mage.

Morrigan froze, apparently not ready for that to happen, but Tsii had never met a person or creature who could come even close to predicting her actions. The woman was so cold and distant, it was almost a shock to find her lips soft, her hands warm. Tsii's long fingers slipped into black hair, tugging at it, loosening it from the bun she insistently wore it in and wrapping it around her fingers.

The human fought against her, pressing back stubbornly and biting down on her lower lip. Tsii drew back, running her tongue against the marks in her flesh. Pressing both hands against her shoulders, Morrigan threw her greater weight onto the elf, shoving her down onto the stone and making her wince as her head connected with it. She smirked, tilting her head as though admiring a piece of art, and Tsii pouted. She had hoped to be the dominator, to make the mage submit and enjoy the freedom that came with it, but Morrigan wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t give in.

She dipped down, kissed her again, roughly, and Tsii sighed against her, wrapping her arms around narrow, effeminate shoulders and getting an odd feeling of closeness from the endless skin slipping against hers. The woman wore so little, left nearly nothing to the imagination, when Tsii touched her it was like she was naked. There was a single, short knock before the door swung open, and Tsii glanced up, gasping softly as Morrigan’s lips descended onto her throat.

In the open stone doorway, holding a plate of rather overcooked meat and wearing an expression somewhere between “accidentally bit a lemon” and “unexpected fellatio”, was Alistair. Tsii grinned, not willing to pull her arms off the woman in order to wave at him.

“She hasn’t sucked all my blood out just yet,” she said brightly. Morrigan chuckled lowly, breath fanning along Tsii’s sensitive skin.

“Oh, do not fret Alistair. You will most certainly hear when I begin sucking.”

“Maker!” he crowed, dropping the plate and whirling. “I’m going to vomit!”

Giggling and wiggling out from under the witch as he sped away, Tsii grabbed the plate, peering at the blackened meat and squeezing it. It was hard like a beetle’s shell, but matte black, more charcoal than meat.

“This fucking thing looks like you cooked it with a fireball,” she snorted, glancing at the now-empty hallway and placing the plate on the chest. Morrigan propped herself up on her forearms, the cloth slung across her body drooping to show off the small bits of fabric just barely protecting what modesty she had.

Her breasts were fairly small by human standards, but more than large enough for Tsii, who felt the tips of her ears warm as she realised that her eyes were fixed on the barely concealed flesh, forcing her gaze up to the sultry smirk twisting Morrigan’s mouth. She cleared her throat, running her nails along her scalp and gesturing meekly at the door, feeling small and vulnerable under the heated gaze she was receiving.

“I’d better go make sure the only other Warden in Ferelden doesn’t choke to death on his own vomit,” she said quickly, laughing nervously as she followed the human through the hall.


	25. On the road to the Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii prepares for the trip to the Deep Roads and meet a certain drunken, sex crazed asshole.

Shifting their things into Harrowmont’s estate had been an awkward experience, as servants waited on them and small rooms coupled with the tiny stone beds all of Orzammar boasted kept them all up late.

Tsii stifled a yawn as Harrowmont greeted her politely, not wanting to seem bored by his flowery language – she truly wasn’t, but between the archdemon-featuring nightmares and stone beds, she hadn’t had a restful sleep since she set foot through those great doors. She shrugged.

“I tried mercy,” she pointed out, even though they didn’t deserve it. “But they wanted to fight.”

Harrowmont smirked wryly.

“Would that some of the noble caste had such loyalty.” He took a deep breath, expression morphing to sorrowful and even somewhat ashamed.

“I have no desire to go back on my word, but when Bhelen heard the news about Jarvia, he raised the stakes. He is forcing a vote in the next two days. By law, that prevents the assembly from hearing any other pleas. To help with your troops, I will require your assistance one last time. Do you know anything of the Paragon Branka?”

Tsii frowned. Another distraction, another day she wasn’t fighting the horde or rallying armies. After a long moment, she spoke.

“I’ve heard the name.” She had also seen the face; the statue bearing Branka’s name in the Hall of Heroes was lifelike enough to show little craters along her cheeks, deep pores that a lot of painters on the surface seemed to conveniently forget about. Harrowmont linked his hands behind his back, straightening his small posture.

“Branka is a Paragon,” he explained.

_Well no shit._

“The only one we have been blessed with in four generations. Two years ago, she took her entire house into the Deep Roads on a mad quest to uncover ancient secrets. No one’s heard from her since…were she to return and endorse someone for the throne, the assembly would be honour-bound to accept her wishes.”

Folding her arms, Tsii quirked a dark brow, uncertain.

“Are you sure Branka would support you as King?”     

The dwarf hesitated for a long moment, hand jumping to his beard as though to stroke it, but catching himself before he could, as though consciously avoiding enabling an old habit.

“It’s hard to say _what_ she would do,” he admitted. “She wasn’t exactly known for her predictability. She never seemed to like being a Paragon. She was devoted to her craft, never cared for politics.” He paused, sighing. “But one of the most brilliant minds Orzammar has seen. Branka hated darkspawn with a passion. She would certainly be a valuable voice to support your treaty.”

Support her treaty? It was signed by the bloody King of Orzammar and swore fealty! How much support it garnered was irrelevant! She grit her teeth, inhaling through her nose. She had already promised Filda that she would go into the Deep Roads to look for her son, searching for Branka would simply extend her journey, but the mere thought of the deep, hopeless tunnels filled with taint and monsters left a dark feeling of dread in her chest, a sense of impending doom.

“What if she’s dead?” she asked simply. The Deep Roads had stolen the lives from many a great Warden, surely a craft-minded woman and a bunch of noblemen didn’t stand a chance. Harrowmont let out a long sigh through his nose, as though he had been trying to avoid the thought.

“Her entire house went with her…it would take a lot to kill so many.”

She wondered if he had ever been into the Deep Roads himself. The greatest warriors in the world faced its cursed halls with resignation, there was nothing nothing down there but death and disease – no good could ever come from its twisting paths. Harrowmont dipped his head placatingly.

“If not, bringing proof of her death or a body to return to the Stone, would still show that as an Ancestor, it was my hand she guided to her remains.”

Did…Ancestors have the ability to do that? Weren’t they just dwarves who had achieved something great? She ran her fingers along her scalp, pressing her lips together to stifle another yawn.

“If it gets you the throne, I will do what it takes to find Branka,” she sighed. Seemingly ignoring her exhaustion, Harrowmont approached his desk, shuffling through the ever-present stack of papers.

“My men traced Branka’s disappearance to an ancient crossroads known as Caridin’s Cross,” he explained, sifting through several pages filled with hundreds of straight, perfect runes. “It is many miles below where we normally venture, but I can provide a map to lead you there.”

He lifted serveral large, folded maps from the pile, checking them over and offering them to Tsii.

“Just enter the Deep Roads through the mines,” he explained, tapping the sharp, flawless lines that branched out from the end of the Commons on the first map. “Thank you again. And may the Ancestors guide your steps.”

Tsii lifted the pile of papers, shuffling through them. They were detailed, but not in a way that would be useful to her – the rooms and corridors were measured intricately down to the centimetre, but they were empty, without a single marking to point out which building was which, or where darkspawn nests would be. She folded the maps one by one, slinging her pack off one shoulder to slip them in. She guessed there was no point in delaying any longer – she had to make for the Deep Roads.

She was sure to prepare zealously – dried meat and extra waterskins to make up for the barren stone halls’ lack of wildlife and waterways, dozens of poultices and antidotes for the spiders and darkspawn. She found a friend in the Shaperate when she retrieved a stolen book, and another potential friend in a woman who asked her to seek out scrolls in the Roads.

She caught herself delaying the journey when she examined a crossbow for the millionth time, and sighed, looking towards the gargantuan tunnel leading out to the mines. It was guarded by a small squad of men, and a redheaded man snarling at them with an axe in his hand. He looked similar to the dwarf who had been passed out on the floor in the tavern a few times, with recognisable crimson hair, and she cursed under her breath, thanking the l-l-l-lyrium touched dwarf who had been watching her in a daze, and moving towards the entrance.

“You know, the Deep Roads are supposed to be much safer during a Blight,” Alistair piped up without addressing anyone. It didn’t do much to soothe Tsii, “much safer” wasn’t exactly a relaxing concept in the most dangerous place in the world.

The red haired dwarf growled something, storming away from the guards and stopping on his heel in front of Tsii.

“Stranger!” he barked – or came as close to a bark as a slurring, addled voice could. “Have you seen a Grey Warden hereabouts?”

Peering down at him and trying to stifle a laugh, Tsii covered her mouth as he leaned on his axe, a majestic, beautiful piece of craftsmanship which glinted with a deadly sharpness that seemed to slice through the air itself.

“I’ve been privy to the rumour that he…or was it she…” he snorted, scratching his short, bright hair. “You understand this was several mugs ago – was searching for Branka on Lord Harrowmont’s own command.”

Tsii nodded slowly, looking over her shoulder at Alistair, who was pressing his lips together, neck tensed as his clenched his jaw.

“And, uh…what does this Grey Warden look like?” she asked, impressed at her own ability to keep a straight face. The dwarf waved one arm theatrically, swaying and axe wobbling concerningly.

“Stout and muscular,” he said wistfully. “Fair of face, but with a strong jaw and a bold nose, surrounded by a great glowing nimbus.” A somewhat audacious grin curled his lips, cheeks turning slightly redder than they already were from the alcohol.

“If she’s a woman, she might be more slight, but her eyes will shine with the light of purity and her large but chaste bosom will heave magnificently.” He cupped his hands over his breastplate suggestively, prompting a whimper from Alistair as he failed to supress his laughter.

He scowled over her shoulder at the other Warden, looking somewhat like a displeased child who didn’t get the joke.

“I’ve been looking for hours, but I haven’t seen anyone who looks like that,” he grumbled. “Very frustrating.”

Tsii finally released a a giggle, earning another deep scowl from the dwarf and covering her mouth with a hand as though it would anger the man less.

“I’m not too sure I can help,” she gasped, “None of the Grey Wardens I know look like that.”

The dwarf gave her a long look up and down, focusing for a bit too long on the modest leather and loose cloth that made up her roomy, cooling armour.

“Seriously?” he grumbled incredulously, making Tsii's smile drop as she bristled. “You’re the Warden? I mean, the Grey Warden?” He huffed, planting a hand on his hip. “Well if you’re the best they’ve got, then standards must have fallen way down…but I suppose that would account for an elf being down here. Say, could I ask you a favour?”

Tsii snorted.

“That’s how you butter someone up to ask them for help?” she spluttered. The dwarf ignored her completely, grinning widely.

“Name’s Oghren, and if you’ve ever heard of me before, it’s probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong.” He paused to laugh heartily, a puff of foul breath managing to hit Tsii. She reeled at the overwhelming scent of alcohol, burning her nostrils and making her cough. Oghren continued as though he didn’t even notice.

“And that’s mostly true, but the part they never say is how I’m the only one still trying to save our only Paragon. And if you’re looking for Branka, I’m the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.”

She looked at him for a long time, intricate armour and elegant axe paired with a bunched-up face, a nose that had clearly been broken plenty of times and a beard which was braided on either side of a twisted mouth. He was a walking juxtaposition, his gear clean and well-loved, his self broken and dirty. He made her a little uncomfortable.

“Cut to the chase,” she commanded shortly. “You can come if your info is good.”

Oghren paused, looking as though he hadn’t expected her to be so accepting of his proposal. He cleared his throat gruffly.

“You should know that Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void, the secret to building golems, which was lost centuries ago,” he explained. “The smith Caridin built it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems forged on the Anvil. As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in the old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past Caridin’s Cross. No one’s seen that Thaig for five hundred years.”

Reeling from the sudden dump of information, Tsii ran her fingers along her scalp. Ortan Thaig sounded somewhat familiar, and after a moment she remembered the woman who had been wandering around in the Shaperate. She shrugged.

“Harrowmont gave me a map,” she pointed out. “I know how to get to Caridin’s Cross.”

Oghren grinned again, thumping his axe against the ground.

“Well let’s get moving. Branka’s not going to sodding find herself,” he growled. Tsii glanced over her shoulder incredulously, noting the unimpressed frown on both Morrigan’s and Sten’s faces. There was not nearly enough food or water for another man, and while she wasn’t particularly eager to endure the walking brewery for any longer than absolutely necessary, she was no fool; she knew Oghren would have an uncanny knowledge of the Roads the same way she knew of the Anderfels – the kind of knowledge that only came from living alongside a great, terrible location as dangerous as its inhabitants.

She rubbed her forehead, turning to look at her companions.

“Sten,” she sighed. “If you could stay behind…”

He gave her a hard look, and she pressed her lips together. If there was any way to gain the giant’s respect, it was by standing up to him, not shrinking away from his intimidating form.

“You could return to Harrowmont’s estate, or, leave Orzammar and stay with Bodahn and Zevran if you prefer.”

He didn’t speak, nodding once and turning on his heel to disappear quickly. Tsii sighed, glancing back at Oghren for a moment before striding past to meet the guards blocking the entrance to the mines. The apparent leader put his hand out to stop her, but seemed bewildered when he looked up at her, as though he had never seen her like before.

“What’s this?” he stammered. “An elf?” He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you past the front lines without a deshyr’s permission.”

Oghren released a loud, apparently intimidating growl, slamming the hilt of his axe into the dirt.

“Open your eyes, man!” he roared. “This Grey Warden is on a quest to find your Paragon! Do I have to take your sodding head off?”

Tsii ran her fingers along her scalp, sighing through her nose and smiling down at the man politely.

“What Oghren is trying to say is that we have permission,” she explained, beginning to sling her pack off to show him the maps. The guard snorted gruffly, shooting Oghren a dirty look.

“Oghren _could_ have been a deshyr for House Branka,” he grunted, barely concealed loathing in his voice. “I suppose he’s the next best thing, in both skill and arrogance.”

Glancing up at Tsii with significantly more respect, the guard nodded at his companions, stepping aside.

“You may pass.” He watched as Tsii stepped past him, feeling somewhat like she had passed the point of no return, crossed some line. He gave her a regretful smile, dipping his head. “I’d offer more assistance, but my command post is here. All of Orzammar relies on us to hold this line.”

She didn’t mind in the slightest, glancing up at the towering passage to the mines. It descended immediately into blackness, as though it absorbed light, as though the pure hopelessness clouding the air like smog blocked or drained every sliver of light from Orzammar.

“How far is it to Caridin’s Cross?”

She had brought a week’s worth of food and water, adding more weight than was comfortable, but she would be damned before she let her companions starve to death. The guard shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he snorted. “No one’s been there in centuries. But both Bhelen and Harrowmont had men looking just this week.”

She frowned, brow furrowing. The tunnels below the Anderfels were completely abandoned, unexplored, but surely if Orzammar’s people had lived alongside these tunnels for their entire lives they would have explored more…

“Do you mean to say that there are _no_ people past this point?” she asked carefully. As though the Deep Roads weren’t dark and lonely enough already. The guard shrugged again, scratching his beard with one hand.

“A few outposts,” he muttered. “Leigon of the Dead, mostly, fools that they are. Some scavenger types, too.”

“Leigon of the dead?” she asked slowly, tilting her head to the side. If these were some kind of fucking army of undead dwarf ghouls, she was giving up on Ferelden and going straight fucking home.

“It’s an independent company of soldiers,” he explained, a touch of respect in his voice. “They accept no command but their own. Anyone who can bear arms can join, no matter his crimes…or sanity. They hold a funeral when they join and swear their only goal is a glorious death.”

She hummed thoughtfully. It was a lot better than what she was picturing, but honestly, anything was. She thanked the guard, looking back up at the intimidating entrance to the bowels of Thedas and taking a deep, long breath.

Alistair’s armour clanked softly as he drew to her side, elbowing her gently and offering a soothing smile. She appreciated the gesture, feeling much braver when she remembered that the human was at her side, and smiled back.

“Time for some righteous Grey Wardening,” she declared, marching forth into the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THISS GAY KISS ON PEENIS TIP


	26. Ortan Thaig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring Ortan Thaig, Tsii is forced to confront the darker side of the blighted blood that makes her a Warden, and she takes solace in Morrigan before they are rudely interrupted.

While Caridin’s Cross had hardly been the most impressive thing she had seen since entering Orzammar, the sheer size of the crossroads was certainly noteworthy. The journey was long and cold; no wood to make a fire at night, no streams or lakes to bathe in, and no fresh meat for an increasingly sulky Barkspawn.

The Thaig, however, was a sight to behold. Light of some form filtered through holes in the towering ceiling, outlining the dust dancing through the air. The architecture was brilliant, with gigantic statues and lovingly carved houses laid out in deliberate, careful rows.

“By the tits of my Ancestors, Ortan Thaig,” Oghren crowed even more gleefully than he had at Caridin’s Cross. “I never thought I’d see this place in the flesh.”

He wandered along unsteadily, snorting softly and running his gauntleted hand along a wall.

“I can see Branka all over this place. She always took chips from the walls at regular intervals when she was in a new tunnel – check their composition.” He glanced at Tsii, a thoughtful scowl twisting his square face. “If she was still here, though, she’d have sentries out by now.”

Tsii hummed, looking as far as the twisting city would allow. She wandered ahead slowly, listening keenly for the darkspawn and creatures that had plagued their three day journey thus far.

“Know anything about these ruins?” she asked. She was probably better off asking Barkspawn than Oghren, who had brought down eye-watering spirits instead of water, and spent the entirety of their walk stumbling about.

“This was Caridin’s home Thaig,” he explained as well as he could while slurring. “He was an Ortan before he got raised to Paragon. Even stayed here when he could have had his own house. I guess he didn’t want to move his people to Bownammar.”

He coughed, the smell wafting over to Tsii and making her grit her teeth, stomach clenching. Ignoring the name she didn’t recognise, she turned away from the dwarf, running her fingers along her scalp. He didn’t seem to mind the disgust he caused in people, particularly Morrigan, who had been making her distain for him quite clear with her scathing words.

“So there was a city here?” she asked. It looked too open to be a city, the buildings not nearly as crowded together as in Orzammar. Oghren shook his head and waved his arm about. Honestly, it was a wonder that he stood up, let alone wield his axe, and especially not fight with the skill he did.

“No, no, there was a _Thaig_ here, the Ortan Thaig. Bownammar is north and west of here, but that’s not important. Or, at least, I hope it isn’t. The City of the Dead is known as the Dead Trenches since the darkspawn conquered it. Much of the legion was destroyed when the fortress fell.”

Tsii frowned, pulling the maps back out and flipping open one of them to look over it disappointedly.

“And you have no idea where this Anvil is?”

Oghren snorted.

“No one does. At the time, Ortan Thaig was almost part of the main city. No one bothered to mark where the Anvil was stored. Now, it’s impossible to know if it’s been moved or even destroyed. But trust me. If we find it, we find Branka.”

She froze as another giant spider scuttled down a wall, hissing. Alistair shuddered audibly behind her, and there was a skin-crawling screech as a small army of the creatures charged towards them, the unsheathing of a blade and creaking of a bowstring heralding their death. 

Being covered in green spider guts on top of her travel grime and darkspawn blood was not on her list of most relaxing things, and she grumbled to herself at the thought of continuing the journey (of _uncertain length, she might add!_ ) covered in them.

Exploring the Thaig, the sight of a bridge confused her for a moment, before she climbed it and her heart lifted. An underground river! And it was so clear and beautiful, she had to restrain herself from diving into it from where she stood.

“Spirits,” she sighed gratefully. “Let’s secure an area and make camp here. I need a bath _really_ bad.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Alistair said lowly, and she spun, shoving him back a full step with a scowl.

“If I see any more spiders, I’m standing back and making you deal with them,” she huffed, and the blood drained from his young face.

“Please no.”

She smirked, pleased, and wandered back over the bridge to check out the area they had already cleared. A light flickered from within a tunnel set deep into a wall, and she peered at it curiously, slipping her bow off her shoulder in one move. Noticing the movement immediately, Alistair’s hand landed on his sword, lowering his voice and looking around.

“What is it?”

“Something ahead,” she murmured, nodding at the tunnel. “See the light?”

“Uh…no?”

She glanced at him, frowning and pointing at it. It was dim and far away, but surely it wasn’t _invisible_.

“Right there. That light. In the tunnel.”

He leaned over her shoulder, searching for her map.

“Oh, is there a tunnel there?”

She fixed him with a long, confused look, leading the others up to the tunnel. The tunnel curved, cutting down the familiar orange light of fire from its end. There was low muttering at the end of the tunnel, where the light was coming from, and she followed it, close to the ground and with an arrow nocked. She could feel the taint from where the sound was coming, sensed it just out of sight – like that uncanny certainty that someone was there, waiting.

In an open little area, a dwarf hunched over a fire fuelled by paintings and furniture, presumably from the houses outside. He was talking to himself lowly, whispering and muttering under his breath with quick, fevered words. She paused, watching him for a moment before replacing her bow. He was totally alone, eyes turned to the flames, but not looking into them, his mind far away.

She stepped out of the shadows, approaching him carefully and arching her fingers, ready to transform.

His head snapped up, eyes fixing on her. His hair was long, beard unkempt, his eyes were set in deep, dark circles, splotches of purple scattered across his face and body. Seeing her, he whimpered like a terrified child, throwing himself over a pile of items she couldn’t identify.

“There’s nothing for you here!” he shrieked. “It’s mine! I’ve claimed it!”

Tsii raised her hands placatingly, not moving any closer. He was wearing simple, but lovingly crafted leather armour rimmed with steel, and he caressed his pile, a stray gem peeking out from under his hand.

“Who are you?” she asked softly. “What are you doing down here?”

He whimpered again, caressing his treasures again.

“You’ve come to take my claim!” he yelped. “You surfacers are all alike: thieving scoundrels! Well, I found it first!”

Oghren snorted from behind her, stepping into her line of sight with his arms folded and an abhorant scowl on his face.

“Bah! He’s a bloody scavenger, good as sodding gone,” he spat. The dwarf growled, muttering something under his breath before shouting at them.

“Begone, you!” he rasped. “You’ll bring the dark ones back, you will! They’ll crush your bones!”

“Word has it you can only survive down here by eating the darkspawn dead,” Oghren helpfully offered, shrugging one shoulder. Tsii glanced at him with a dismayed frown, hand lifting to caress her pendant, the memory of the burning taste so vivid in her mind she could swear she still tasted it.

“Darkspawn blood is poison,” she said lowly. “Men have died from drinking it.”

The blighted dwarf spoke up before Oghren could, grinding his teeth and rubbing his head against his shoulder as though his ear itched.

“It burns when it goes down,” he said, something between reverence and pain in his ragged voice. “It burns! It’s my claim, not yours! Crunch your bones!”

He dragged the pile closer to him, back arching like a cat and lip curling to hiss at them.

“Go away!” he shrieked. “This is mine! Only I gets to plunder its riches!”

Tsii took a step closer, both hands up and keeping her voice gentle, the way she spoke to animals.

“I just want to talk to you,” she murmured softly. He whined softly, fingers clutching at a few coins as though they would sprout legs and waddle away from him.

“No! No talking! You leave my territory!”

She settled to her knees, using the sweetest, kindest voice she could.

“I’m not here to steal anything, I promise,” she purred. The dwarf tilted his head with a twitch, slowly lifting himself off his pile of treasures.

“Pretty lady…” he whispered, words tumbling out fast and thoughtless. “Pretty eyes, pretty hair…smells like the steam of burning water, blue as the deepest rock…so…the pretty lady won’t take anything from Ruck? You won’t take Ruck’s shiny worms and pretty rocks?”

She smiled sweetly, tilting her head to let her hair fall over her shoulder.

“I just want to talk. I won’t take anything.”

He sat up on his knees, blinking at her and tilting his head, smiling lopsidedly.

“Oh,” he said thoughtfully. “Ruck not mind that, maybe…”

Poor Filda. What was she going to tell the woman? She spoke lowly and politely, smiling at the twitching dwarf.

“Your name is Ruck?”

He grinned somewhat shyly, hiding his face in his shoulder and looking up at her like a playful child.

“Ruck not pretty name, not pretty like lady,” he trilled. “Ruck is small and ugly and twisted.”

She looked around the camp, paintings stacked up against the walls and cracked statues scattered along the floor. It didn’t look like he could have built it in his state, it must have already been there before he had moved in.

“Did you find anything unusual at this camp?” she asked. Ruck rubbed his ear against his shoulder with his lips curled up.

“Bits of things, but only bits.” He grunted softly, fingers curling and twitching. “The crawlers took almost everything. They take things of steel and things of paper. They takes the shinies and the words.”

Oghren piped up behind her, voice low and grumbly as ever.

“Paper and words? That sounds like someone was taking notes. Do you think Branka camped here?”

Tsii shrugged, not sure who else would be camping there and taking notes. Ruck purred like a cat, looking up at her with his faraway eyes.

“They bring to the great nest, the nest they makes for the eggs,” he whispered. “They puts the shinies inside, they do.”

“How did you survive down here?” She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know, if his state was anything to go by, tainted blood flowed through him, and there were only so many ways to be infected.

“When the dark ones were here, I kept to the shadows,” he muttered, scratching his head. “They don’t look in the shadows, not if you’re quiet. Not if you eat their flesh. Then the dark ones think you’re one of them. They leave you alone. But now they’re gone.”

They thought you were one of them because you were – a ghoul, tainted with the same disease that gave her and Alistair their abilities, the same disease that salted the land it touched, left it barren and lifeless.

“Do you know where the dark ones went?” She wasn’t too eager to fight a horde, and while the Deep Roads were “relatively” safe during a Blight, a relatively safe lion could still kill you. Ruck hummed, rubbing his head against his shoulder again.

“I thinks they went south, pretty lady. Far, far to the south. That is where the dark master calls them with his beautiful voice. So much joy when he awoke!”

Tsii brought somewhat of a fuzzy map of Ferelden up in her mind, frowning. To the south was Ostagar, wasn't it? Was the battle ever truly winnable, even if Loghain had not quit the field? The horde was colossal, but were there ever more hidden away, below the ground? Oghren kicked her lower back to get her attention, making her glance over her shoulder.

“He’s talking about the archdemon, huh?” he muttered. Tsii nodded grimly, turning back to Ruck’s faraway, serene smile.

“After the dark master awoke, he called his children and they all went. I wanted to go to, and gaze upon his beauty…”

“And where is the dark master now?”

Ruck whined softly, rubbing his face over and over with both hands.

“He stopped calling,” he croaked. “I wish I could go see him, but Ruck, no, no, Ruck…Ruck is a coward.”

Tsii shuffled closer, keeping her voice low and sweet.

“Ruck…do you remember Filda?” she asked gently. He recoiled as though she had slapped him, scrambling back off his pile of treasures and curling into a ball, tucking his head down and hiding it with his hands.

“N-n-n-n-no,” he shrieked, fingers curling into claws and burying in his own hair, tugging at the dull black strands until she could see the skin on his head stretching. “No Filda. No mother. No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn’t deserve good memories. No-no-no-no-no.”

She backed off a bit, shushing him softly, until he peeked out at her like a scared child, whimpering.

“How did you end up here?” she said soothingly, trying to calm him. He pulled at his hair again, tugging and releasing over and over while he muttered.

Sh-she did not know, not what I did.” He paused, groaning loudly and pulling his hair harder. “I was very, very, very, very angry and then someone was dead. They wanted to send Ruck to the mines. If I went to the mines, sh-she would know, Everyone would know. So I came here, instead.”

He released his hair, oblivious smile curling his lips again as he began to rock back and forth on his knees.

“Once you eat…once you takes in the darkness…you not miss the light so much.” He turned to look at her, look _through_ her, faraway eyes fixed on her face. “You know, do you not? Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, jaw clenching tightly.

“I’m a Grey Warden,” she insisted. “It’s not the same.”

It wasn’t, was it? She mastered the taint, like her bretheren, she didn’t let it rule over her. Ruck smiled wider, purring as he contorted.

“Grey like the stone. Guardian against the darkness. Beautiful like waterfalls under the lichen.”

It made her heart ache to see him so oblivious and thoughtless, like a victim of the spiders of her home, it was no life. 

She shuffled ever closer, offered him a gentle, sorrowful smile, and in one fluid motion, grabbed him by the hair, forced his head down, and planted her dagger into his spine, right at the base of his skull.

The poor boy didn’t have time to react, body crumpling like a discarded tunic. He wouldn’t have felt pain, wouldn’t have even been able to process what was happening, but his limp face still looked frightened, betrayed.

“It was the best thing to do,” Alistair spoke up, seemingly sensing her horror as she withdrew the blade, blood splattered across her leather glove. “That was no way to live.”

Tsii nodded, wishing she could bury him. Out here on the hard stone, his body wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hours. If the stray darkspawn they had been encountering didn’t get hold of him, the spiders would, and there would be nothing left but his bones.

She laid him on his back, closed his unseeing eyes and stood, sighing deeply.

“This is probably the safest place to make camp,” she declared. “We should move him and set up…I need a fucking bath.”

Alistair nudged her gently, offering her another brave smile, and she appreciated it. There was something comforting in his young face, bright eyes.

“You and Morrigan can set up,” he said softly, turning to look over his shoulder.

“Oghren, help me carry Ruck out,” he called to the dwarf, who snorted.

“What’s the matter, boy? Can’t carry one “fun sized” little duster?”

Alistair sighed and Tsii turned away completely, unable to look at the limp form any longer.

“It was a compliment!” he whined, and Tsii found herself smiling a little as she slung her pack off and untied her bedroll to lay near the fire.

Morrigan watched the two warriors carry Ruck away, with Barkspawn trotting along behind them happily and huffed.

“Finally, I can breathe,” she muttered, untying her own bedroll and setting it as far away from where Tsii was laying Alistair’s and Oghren’s as possible.

“Did you hear what that disgusting creature said to me yesterday? ‘The things I could do to you’…” she shuddered violently, face pale as though she had eaten some bad berries. “I was most certain I would regurgitate that awful salted meat you’ve been stuffing us with.”

Tsii glanced over, grateful that the Bitch of the Wilds was unaffected by Ruck’s plight, or she was kind enough to be putting it on for Tsii. The second option was somewhat unlikely, but it still made the elf feel significantly better.

“You have to give him credit, though: even when he’s blind drunk he manages to fight as well as the rest of us.”

Morrigan snorted, quirking a dark eyebrow at her.

“I believe you are overestimating his ability, Madam Warden,” she sniffed. “Perhaps the darkness is addling your mind.”

“Or it could be Oghren’s stink getting me somewhere near as drunk as he is.”

She was treated to a low, throaty laugh, and smiled at the witch, taking a rough towel from her pack, along a the bar of soap.

She was so eager to clear the grime and dried blood from her skin that she didn’t find any reason not to dive straight into the river. It moved at a slow pace, fast enough to remain clear and blue, but too slow to sweep her away when she stood in it. She relished in the cold water, sighing gratefully as she lowered herself down, floating on her back with just her head peeking out, dark hair billowing out in the water.

Morrigan had joined her, bare body elegant and beautiful, creamy skin glistening with droplets as she poured water over her head from her waterskin. Her body arched and curved like a snake, or a pleased cat, suds of soap bunching up around her neck and breasts. Catching her wandering eye, Morrigan smirked at Tsii, lip curling to flash her teeth.

“Is there something you wish of me, Madam Warden?” she asked slyly, planting her hands on her wide hips. Tsii grinned up at her, flicking her foot to send a few droplets of water up at her face.

“You could come down here and give me a kiss,” she purred, adding a wink. Morrigan chuckled again, tilting her head.

“Perhaps you don’t deserve a kiss,” she teased in response, lowering herself to cover the elf’s body with her own. The water was cold enough that her smooth skin was coated in gooseflesh, but it was still warm against hers, like the lips drawing ever closer to her face, her lips.

“Do it. Do it!”

The excited, gravelly voice broke them both from their daze, Tsii almost drowning as Morrigan pushed her down, flinching away in surprise. She surfaced, spluttering, to see far more of Oghren than she _ever_ needed to.

“For fuck’s sake, man!” she shrieked, rolling over and covering her eyes. The dwarf laughed loudly, and Morrigan swore at him with curses that would make a hurlock blush.

“I didn’t know those elf tattoos went all the way down, Warden!” he said slyly, and Tsii gagged, standing and scrambling for her towel. Frozen, apparently midway through scurrying towards the shouting, Alistair stood with his own soap in hand and a bloodstained Barkspawn at his side, looking much smaller than normal in his sweat-stained under armour. His face was bright red, looking somewhat like he had tried to swallow a whole apple, and Tsii grumbled, glancing at Morrigan, who had wrapped herself in her towel.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried, witch,” Oghren was crowing, laughing proudly. “Dwarves resist magic! There’s nothing you can do!”

“No?”

Tsii wrapped her own towel around her body, holding it shut as she stormed up the bank, drawing her arm back and throwing all of her body weight behind a single punch straight to the dwarf’s fat, crooked little nose. When he stumbled, cursing and holding his nose, she looked down at him with a smirk.

“You’re just as susceptible to having your spine pulled out, though,” she said brightly, storming back to the camp, hearing a towel flutter to the ground behind her as gigantic spider with a bright purple abdomen skittered along beside her.


	27. The dead march

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsii finally sees the archdemon in the blighted flesh, and meet the Legion of the Dead, which is thankfully, not a fucking army of undead dwarf ghouls.

Deep in the low trench stretching out before them like a wound cut into the world itself, an army of thousands, millions of darkspawn marched, the torches they carried forming a blanket of yellow spots like a twisted parody of the night sky when looked upon without focus.

Tsii peeked over the edge warily, hand seeking out Alistair’s shoulder without her permission. She felt sick, the feeling of the monsters below making her skin crawl and her stomach turn, and she clutched Alistair’s metal pauldron so tightly her fingers ached. There was no warning before they were thrown back by a burst of air so powerful it might as well have been solid, a blur of sickly violet betraying the larger-than-life beast shooting up out of the trench like an arrow.

Sprawled on the ground, with fear so tangible in her throat it may have been vomit, she watched dark, blighted wings shoot out, large enough to darken the sky if there had not been stone above their heads, and the beast soared through the great cavern with ease, slamming down onto a sturdy dwarven bridge with such force she was surprised it didn’t simply crumble under the weight.

Lifting its wings above its head, the dragon – the archdemon – drew its head up, tail swishing and curling as though it didn’t weigh a thing, and it roared, an ear-rupturing, world-shaking sound that should have sent Tsii scrambling for safety, weeping and blubbering in pure, primal fear, but…it was almost melodic…like the sound the _Ulisi_ made when they were weaving. She was almost drawn to it, wanting to rise and wander towards it, touch its elegant scales, flickering like gold in the firelight.

Something cold and hard touched the back of her gloved hand, and she jumped, managing to tear her eyes away from the archdemon to find Alistair resting his hand on hers, grounding her. From the archdemon’s scarred mouth spewed a geyser of sickly violet flames, and it reared, fire bathing the cavern in sickening light.

The archdemon leaped, causing the stone bridge to tremble, and it soared above its army, a cry that would send even the stoutest warriors scrambling for cover bursting from its maw, wings carrying it through the cavern without even the slightest effort, until its gigantic body was out of sight.

Tsii watched the corner it had disappeared behind for a long moment, dumbfounded. Alistair’s hard gauntlet nudged her arm, and she took a deep, ragged breath, looking over at the human.

“Are you alright?” he asked lowly, eyes sympathetic. She took a moment to ask herself the same thing, running her nails along her scalp before nodding and smiling at him bravely.

“I’m fine,” she sighed. “Let’s keep going.”

Leading the way silently, she couldn’t find herself angry when Alistair nudged her again, whispering.

“You…felt that, right? When it roared?”

Shivering, Tsii opened her mouth to respond, somewhat relieved that he felt it too, and somewhat dismayed that it had to do with the tainted blood inside them, that there was no escaping it. She didn’t speak, however, head snapping towards the bridge ahead, ears perked at the sound of a word. A word in Common.

“There are people over there,” she gasped, taking off without another word. A curse echoed behind her, her companions scrambling to keep up, and she skidded to a stop, yanking the bow off her back to plant an arrow in the middle of a hurlock’s back.

A group of dwarves fought against them with the tenacity of men with nothing to lose, axes swinging with all their might and roars of battle erupting from their mouths.

“Stone-Blind beasts!” bellowed a bald man with a thick red beard as he took another hurlock’s head clean off. “You’re no nightmare to us!”

Tsii grinned, yanking her favourite dagger out from its sheathe and leaping onto the back of the Hurlock she shot, jamming her dagger into its neck, then its chest, plunging it so many times that the blood spurted out all over the body of another dwarf, who watched in shock. Finally planting her dagger into its skull, she jumped off the darkspawn before its wild flailing could end up with a sword where she didn’t want it.

Behind her, Alistair and Oghren roared into battle, and Morrigan’s missiles of ice slammed into the beasts with magical precision, shattering a beast and sending frozen chunks of darkspawn flesh flying in all directions.

Her dagger found its way into whatever passed for a brain in a genlock’s skull, and it fell with her weight dragging it down. She looked up, seated on the fat beast’s back, and the bald dwarf grinned at her with a twisted curl of a heavily scarred mouth.

“ _Atrast vala_ , Grey Warden,” he said respectfully, sheathing a long, bloody sword. “I haven’t seen your kind in the Deep Roads for a long time.”

Tsii tilted her head, proud to be recognised, and rose.

“You know I’m a Warden?”

The dwarf laughed lowly, nodding at Alistair.

“I recognise a fighter of darkspawn,” he explained. “It marks you. It’s why we in the Legion of the Dead abandon our lives, so we can face them without fear.” He glanced back at her slyly. “It’s a sacrifice I understand Grey Wardens are familiar with.”

Tsii looked at him for a long time, a slow smile crawling across her face. She liked him. He grinned in response, dark, blocky tattoos crinkling.

“Kardol,” he introduced himself shortly. “What do you want here, Warden?”

Throwing a gesture vaguely in the direction of the bridge, Tsii sheathed her bloody dagger on her bicep.

“Tsii. I need to find Paragon Branka,” she said shortly. Kardol scoffed, face scrunching up and lip curling to bare cracked teeth. She imagined living off whatever they could find down there wasn’t the best for a person’s mouth.

“Who put this dull idea into your head?” he growled. “We’ve got other things to worry about in Orzammar…” Realisation lit up his dark eyes. “Ah, now I see. The deep lords in the Assembly can’t make up their minds, so the pretenders need added influence. I get that right?”

Tsii nodded, folding her arms with a huff. All she wanted was their support to _save the world_ , it really didn’t feel like too much to ask.

“That’s about it. You have anything useful to add?”

Kardol snorted, folding his burly arms and making his clearly used and abused armour groan. It was still intricately crafted, and beautiful, but in a darker, grungier way than Bhelen’s.

“Warden, you’ve got your work cut out for you,” he huffed. “Paragon Branka is dead, everyone with sense knows it. Past our line, the darkspawn kill everything.”

Tsii quirked a brow.

“Then move your line.”

Looking at her with an expression that suggested she was asking him to do a few stretches and turn into a qunari, Kardol’s lip curled.

“I’d gladly lead an assault through the Dead Trenches,” he said thoughtfully, like it was something his dreams were made of. "But without an ass in the throne, we have no orders. I won’t take fool’s gold from a pretender. You want to go digging blind, you go right ahead.”

She looked at him for a long moment, straightening the strip of fabric wrapped around her neck and draped down her front.

“Can you tell me more about the Legion of the Dead?” she asked, curious. He gave her a thoughtful, closed look, she was sure they had their own secrets, like the Wardens.

“We die in the eyes of our brothers so we can fight without fear,” he said, a gruff pride clear in his voice. “It offers redemption for the promise of the greatest sacrifice. That’s all you need to know. To say more invites judgement. Or worse, imitation.”

She tilted her head, understanding.

“Thank you.” She stepped back, certain that the other side of the bridge would find more darkspawn, and preparing the spell in her mind. Kardol dipped his head respectfully.

“Good luck, Grey Warden.”

Tsii turned, nodding at her companions, and twisted the Fade, facing down a veritable army of darkspawn across the bridge, an ogre standing at their front. A rumbling growl rippled through her great, furry body, and she leaped ahead at a gallop, thick ursine legs powering her forward with a roar from the depths of her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ulisi - Grandmother (An older Kwanitan female who assists in crafts, storytelling and caring for the children of the tribe.)


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally finding the Anvil of the Void, the FSUS meet Paragon Caridin and Tsii is dismayed aT tHE STUPID DIALOG CHOICES SHE HAS TO CHOOSE BETWEEN GEE MAYBE I WANT TO KEEP THE ANVIL BECAUSE I THINK PEPLE CAN BE TRUSTED TO USE IT RESPONSIBLY BUT HEY FUCK ME RIGHT I MUST WANT TO KEEP IT BC I AM AN EVIL BITCH WHO IS TOTALLY DOWN FOR SLAVERY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Insert mental image of Ali and Tsii playing patty cake in the deep roads*

Tsii thundered through the tunnel, teeth grit and fists clenched. She was hungry, she was filthy, she was tired as fuck, they had run out of food days ago and were surviving on deepstalker and nugs roasted on Morrigan’s staff, the only water they had found was in tiny trickles they practically had to lick off the walls, and in the depths, the Archdemon so much closer than she ever wished, her nightmares woke her almost on the hour. She had completely forgone sleep the night before, and stayed up with Alistair, playing hand games from her childhood.

Branka was an egotistical bitch, Tsii was sick of doing _everybody’s_ job for them, Oghren was insufferable with his moaning, and by all the spirits, she was going to take her dagger to her own fucking throat if she ever had to see a broodmother again.

Even in her mood, she could still be impressed. A cavern was splayed out before them, so large that she couldn’t even see the far end with her elven eyes. Streams of molte\n rock poured from the roof, and a cliff rose, stark against the ocean of lava, dark rock lit by twining snakes of lyrium, and at its peak, a platform hosting a lovingly crafted anvil, lyrium running up its sides like blue veins.

Before that, a golem the size of an ogre stood prone, a path of six of its stone bretheren leading to it. Tsii moved cautiously, she had just fought a bunch of the rock behemoths and barely came out of it alive – she wasn’t particularly interested in fighting a half dozen.

The golem at the end was different, though. Its body was metal, thick plates lovingly carved with decorative grooves set about its body like armour, its face fashioned like a mask with slits where a mouth would have been giving it the look of a stern scowl.

“My name is Caridin,” it said suddenly, making Tsii jump. Its voice echoed, almost ghostly, as though it did come from a mouth within its helm. “Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar. If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it.”

She had to crane her neck to look up at the thing, felt dizzy from just how big it was – taller than even Sten.

“Caridin?” she asked increduloudly. “ _The_ Caridin? Of Caridin’s Cross?”

The golem's plates ground together as it shifted idly, releasing a low, metallic groan.

“Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item: the Anvil of the Void,” It rumbled. “It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible. But I told no one the cost. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere.”

Tsii frowned.

“Sounds like blood magic. A dangerous road,” she said softly. It was too easy to be lost in the power it offered, a slippery slope leading to the dread magisters of Tevinter. Caridin’s armour creaked, helm turning as though it was tiliting its head.

“The darkspawn were pressing in.” It made a sound somewhat like a sigh. “Originally I only took volunteers, the bravest of souls willing to trade their very lives for the chance to defend their homeland. But King Valtor became greedy. He began to force men…casteless and criminals…his political enemies…all of them were to be given to the anvil. It took feeling the hammer’s blow myself to realise the height of my crimes.”

“And you sealed it away? King Valtor is dead, it can be used!”

Caridin took one heavy step towards her, the very ground trembling beneath its metal foot.

“No!” it snarled, Tsii backing up to try and put some distance between them. “I entombed myself here to find a way to destroy the Anvil! It must not be used again!”

From behind them, there was the sound of short footsteps, armour clanking. Tsii glanced over her shoulder, quirking an eyebrow at the self-absorbed little bitch waddling towards her.

“No!” Branka shrieked. “The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!”

Caridin spread its feet, creaking as it clenched its metal fists.

“You!” it hissed, turning to look at Tsii. “Please…help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!”

Tsii stood fast, staring up at it bravely.

“It is a tool, to be used for its purpose,” she insisted. “The Anvil isn’t the problem, the users are.”

Caridin rumbled softly, looking down at her with a somewhat distainful air.

“Your own people were slaves once, were they not? Would you force the very souls of others into slavery for eternity?”

She wasn’t planning on forcing _anyone_ to do _anything_. The bloody thing was treating the Anvil like the Chantry treated blood magic. A tool wasn’t inherently good or evil, it wasn’t _anything_ but a tool! And _her people?_ Her people were roaming the jungles of the Donarks, sharing pointed ears didn’t make her family with some stranger in the middle of Denerim!

“Why are you listening?” Branka spoke up, loud and grandiose. “We had an agreement. I’m the one you came here to find, not him!”

Oghren growled loudly, stepping up to take the woman’s hand.

“Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail,” he grumbled. “Does this thing mean so much to you that you can’t even see what you’ve lost to get it?”

Branka jerked her hand away from him, whirling with a glare that could freeze the molten rivers behind her.

“Look around,” she spat. “Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory!”

Tsii looked back up at Caridin.

“She isn’t wrong, Caridin. A tool like this can’t just sit here gathering dust.”

A hand suddenly wrapped around her arm, Alistair’s gauntlet cool and hard against her. She looked over her shoulder, at his grave face, eyes pleading.

“You must destroy the Anvil while you have the chance,” he said lowly. “As long as it exists, one day you…or I, may fall under the hammer. Remember that.”

His sorrowful tone knocked the breath out of her, like he had punched her.

“It’s a tool!” she insisted. “One day you or I may fall under a sword!”

Looking back at Caridin, she drew herself up.

“The Grey Wardens will use any tool available to defeat the Blight,” she said gravely. “We always have. We understand that it is not the weapon that kills a man, it is the wielder. You – King Valtor used the Anvil like a child swinging a staff around, and now you lock it away because you trust _your people_ too little to allow them to use it responsibly.”

A low growl echoed through Caridin’s helm, its metal fist groaning as it clenched slowly.

“I cannot allow you to do this, stranger,” it said, lifting its arms and roaring. “To me, golems! Defend the Anvil, whatever the cost!”

The golems roared to life, the ground shaking as the stone beasts thundered towards them. Snarling, Caridin swept a colossal hand to the side, colliding with Tsii’s torso and sending her flying, breath completely escaping her body. She crumpled to the ground, wheezing and trying to suck in air.

She sat up, watching as Oghren charged one of the stone creations, axe swinging wildly. Branka bounced around, a dagger in each hand and a crazed look in her eyes, trying to fit the blades between pieces of Caridin’s armour. Caridin didn’t even seem to notice, hammering both fists around the darting Alistair, who took a heavy hit to the back. He yelped, and Barkspawn snarled ferociously, the clever dog ramming at Caridin’s leg with his shoulder to trip it.

The mabari just managed to dodge a fist that would have crushed the poor thing’s spine, and Tsii climbed to her feet, taking a deep breath the way her father taught her, closing her eyes and readying herself.

“Morrigan!” she roared suddenly, catching the mage’s attention. She was staying away from the fight, hurling fire at the monsters from relative safety, but paused to look at Tsii, who gathered the Fade around herself. “Bear! Help!”

The human seemed to understand immediately, and turned towards her, the light at the tip of her gnarled staff illuminating. Tsii could feel the Fade twisting around her, and she roared, her skin thickening and sprouting thick, almost straw-like fur.

She was huge, like she had been in the Fade, on all fours the golems were only a head above her, and she thundered towards them, jumping onto her hind legs with a bellow. Now she towered over the golem which had been bearing down on Alistair, and it was a pebble, flicking her belly with its tiny fists unTil she swiped with a gigantic paw, and its flat head flew like a stone skipping across a pond, skittering off the cliff and into the molten lake below.

The construct crumbled, thudding to the ground, and Tsii roared, bearing the rage of the other five. They seemed drawn to the largest threat, and tried to break her thick legs, her powerful ribcage with their piddly punches. She swung left and right, Oghren swearing at her as she almost knocked a golem on top of him. He dispatched it, following her lead in taking the tiny head off, using his axe as a lever to pull it out of the protective collar it was set deep within.

Morrigan sent a ball of fire at another golem, almost catching Tsii’s fur alight, but sending the stones tumbling to the ground as the unidentifiable mix holding it together melted and turned into a chunky, red slurry of liquid. What was left was an oddly dwarf-shaped hunk of metal, which slowly began to melt from the magical flames licking at it.

Tsii didn’t bother to use her claws, even in the gigantic, advanced form she was in, they would bend and break against the stone she was trying to crack. She rounded on the golem behind her, which had tried to plant a crippling blow in the middle of her back, and brought both paws down onto its head, trying to shove it down into its body.

“Tsii!” Morrigan called from behind her, and she pushed the golem back, moving away as ice raced along the golem’s body, crawling down its collar to its head. Tsii snarled, shoving the frozen construct to the ground and leaping, landing on its breast with her full weight and feeling it crack, shattering below her massive girth.

Another dropped to one knee, groaning, and Oghren roared, slamming his axe into the head, which cracked completely in half. Alistair also came to help, slamming the point of his shield into the golem’s collar and heaving until the head popped out. The final golem ran at her as fast as a creature of pure stone could, ramming her with its shoulder and sending Tsii stumbling. She slammed both paws onto it over and over again, bellowing in pain as it gripped her with one arm and slammed her ribs with the other. When she stumbled over a rock and fell, it ignored her, whirling on a wildly swinging Alistair, who had forgone his sword and was bashing at the rock with his shield, flecks and pebbles breaking off and scattering from his powerful blows.

It knocked his shield to the side as though it was nothing, planting a rocky fist into his breastplate. He wheezed audibly, the metal crumpling under the force and flew a few metres to drop weakly, unmoving. Tsii roared, drowning out Barkspawn’s frightened yowl, and jumped to her feet with a grunt, lifting herself onto her hind legs and wasting no time, slipping both dexterous paws into the golem’s collar and grunting, twisting until its head popped with the sound of stone cracking.

She threw it to the ground, panting and rounding on Caridin. It was slamming its fists onto the ground, trying to hit the two dwarves scurrying around its feet and swiping uselessly at its thick metal armour with their weapons. Tsii stomped closer, somewhat unsteady on her hind legs, and let loose with a great, ear-shattering, earth-shaking roar.

Branka wisely moved away, Oghren following her like a kitten chasing its mother, and before Caridin had a chance to follow, Tsii thundered towards it, planted both paws on its breastplate and pressed with all of the strength in her usine body. It roared, slamming its fists into her gigantic arms and bellowing at her as it tried to break her bones, tear her skin, but she pushed, claws cutting into the dirt as she heaved against it, pressed hard against the solid metal.

It stepped back, growling as she pushed it, and slammed its fists against every inch of bared flesh, resisting with every bit of effort in its metal form as she pushed, snarling in its face. It stepped back again, followed by an insistent forward step by Tsii, resisting every movement. It felt like pressing against a brick wall, unyielding and defiant, but she persisted, Alistair’s crumpled body jumping into her mind – armour crushed against his soft chest and Barkspawn leaning over his form, whining in worry for his master. Her paws slipped against the dirt, lumps of earth gathering at her heels as she pressed against Caridin’s solid armour.

Caridin roared, and she roared back, bestial and furious, saliva flying about as she scrunched her nose up, baring her gigantic teeth up to the gums. She reared back, making it stumble, giving it a final look. If only it had the comprehension to understand that everyone would not be like it, if only it was not so old and jaded…if only it could trust its own people.

She gave a final, heavy shove, and the construct stumbled back, finding nothing behind its foot and tumbling with a painfully human cry into the lake of lava below. She watched as it landed atop the thick liquid, calling for the Anvil even in its last moments, and slowly sank below, the molten rock enveloping its heavy body until nothing remained but a bubble of air.

Tsii stepped safely away from the edge, releasing the spell and stumbling, falling straight onto her ass as elegantly as she could while recovering from being a gigantic bear. She took a moment to breathe and immediately remembered Alistair, scrambling to her feet and running to his prone body.

He was sprawled across the dirt, unbuckling the side of his breastplate with one hand while the other was propping him up. Barkspawn was sniffing at his neck, licking his cheek every now and again. He pushed the mabari off playfully, sighing when his breastplate came undone and waving away her frightened expression.

“I’m fine,” he said weakly, taking a long, deep breath. “Nothing worse than I would get from pissing you off.”

His breastplate was crumpled, the middle bent in like a blanket with a stone on it. It must have been pressing on his chest, restricting his breathing and probably hurting like a bitch, but he still smiled bravely at her, glancing behind her at the sound of a reverent voice.

“Here it is, the Anvil of the Void. So sweet, such power!”

She turned, looked over. The dwarf was whimpering, fallen to her knees, gazing up at the hunk of lyrium-laced stone as though it was her very own god.

From somewhere behind her, Oghren approached carefully, like she was a wild animal to be wary of, like she would round on him and tear his arm off if he wasn’t delicate.

“You found the Anvil,” he said, as gruffly as he could, being as careful as he was “Are you happy now? Maybe we could go back to Orzammar, share the good news.”

Branka ignored him, dragging herself to her feet in a daze.

“Look at it,” she whispered. “It was worth it. All of it. The Anvil…is everything I thought it would be.”

Oghren muttered something defeatedly, but Tsii ignored him as well, stepping towards the woman who had been stumbling up the cliff in a love-drunk state.

“Perhaps I could use it now…” she murmured excitedly, rounding on Tsii and having the nerve to look down her nose at her. “A reward for defeating Caridin. You wanted a crown, no? Or have you set your sights higher than the petty kings of Orzammar?”

Frowning, Tsii narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t sure what Branka was expecting her to ask for, but in all this time, she hadn’t started to care any more about Orzammar’s politics.

“Just the crown,” she said slowly. “The assembly must accept that.”

Branka sniffed, turning on her heel with a dismissive wave.

“Then stand aside,” she huffed. “And I shall forge it for you. Take it to whomever you please.”

She didn’t say another thing, stroking the Anvil like a beloved pet and slipping a well-loved hammer out of her belt.

Tsii didn’t watch for long, uncaring of the woman and turning to look back at Alistair. He was squatting now, crumpled breastplate discarded on the ground and both hands occupied with rubbing Barkspawn’s happy face. He was squishing the mabari’s cheeks, cooing softly and blowing kisses as he panted with his long tongue lolling out, enjoying the endless joy that a dog’s life allowed.

“Let’s head back to the camp,” she declared, finding Morrigan perched at the edge of the cliff, gazing down into the molten lake with her arms clasped behind her back. Oghren refused to leave, snapping at her when she urged him along and insisting that he just wanted to “watch the bloody woman work”. She didn’t push him, backing away and creeping through the disabled Trials to the camp Branka had erected before they had even arrived. First and foremost: a fucking meal.


	29. Long live the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new King of Orzammar is crowned. Long live the King.

The stone doors flew open on either side of the surprisingly lean dwarven man, quietly sliding along the floor, although nobody would have heard it, with Steward Bandelor attempting to shout over the fiercely arguing Bhelen and Harrowmont. Harrowmont turned to see her first, then Bhelen, following his eyes, and then a sudden, deafening silence fell over the entire room.

The thin dwarf spoke up assuredly, voice filled with respect.

“I apologise for the interruption, Lord Steward,” he said simply, voice lighter than the other dwarves she had encountered thus far. “But the Grey Warden has returned.”

In the uncomfortable silence, the deshyrs all looked at each other, presumably deliberating the presence of a stranger in the Assembly, and Harrowmont spoke up, shattering the silence.

“We should let the Warden speak,” he warned. “What news do you bring?”

Producing Branka’s beautiful creation, Tsii lifted the crown in front of her, offering it up to their gaze. It was a delicate, masculine thing, a ruby the size of her fist set into the middle of a beautiful blade-like jut of gold above the forehead, and ridges almost like wings curling down, arcing around the side of the wearer’s eyes. The band was long, carved with intricate patterns and set with another three diamond shaped slips of gold at both sides and the back.

“I have brought a crown crafted by Paragon Branka, for the new King of Orzammar,” she declared grandly, proud on the woman’s behalf of the adoring stares her craftsmanship drew. From behind her, Oghren stepped out, still stinking of sweat and booze, even after they had stopped at Harrowmont’s estate to bathe and indulge themselves.

“Branka still lives,” he growled. “Though she’s as mad as a nug at a tanner’s shop. She finally found the Anvil of the Void and chose to stay in the Deep to work it.” He stuck his hand out gracelessly, shoving it in Tsii’s general direction. “She tasked this Grey Warden to give her crown to Orzammar’s next king, chosen by the Ancestors as the first in a millennium to lead a golem army against a blight.”

Bhelen snorted, looking over the gathered deshyrs.

“And we are supposed to trust this,” he scoffed. “The word of a drunken sot and a Grey Warden known to be in Harrowmont’s pocket?”

Well, in Oghren’s defence, that was an awful lot more articulate than most of the things that came out of his mouth. When the redhead opened his mouth, furious and ready with what was probably a somewhat less than creative curse, Bandelor struck his hand out authoritatively.

“Silence!” He snapped shortly, turning to Tsii when he was satisfied. “Then tell us, Grey warden, which king did Paragon Branka endorse?”

Lowering the crown, Tsii took a deep breath. She didn’t have it in her to lie to them, couldn’t do it in good conscience – it was the future of their very society!

“She wished me to give the crown to whomever I chose,” she admitted. “She has no particular preference.”

Slamming his fist onto a podium, Bhelen growled furiously.

“The Grey Warden knows nothing about us!” he roared. “Why would a Paragon entrust someone like this with such a weighty decision? This is ridiculous!”

Well, it was a lot nicer than ‘she really doesn’t give a shit’. Bandelor looked at her weary face for a long time, only speaking after several minutes.

“We’ve argued in these chambers for too long,” he said, authority heavy in his voice. “The will of the Paragon is that the Grey Warden decide.”

Her heart jumped into her throat, she was really picking a monarch for a city she had barely seen, for a people she knew nothing about? What if she picked wrong? What if Harrowmont was a fantastic liar? She felt a little woozy, like she was swaying on her feet. What if she vomited? Was she about to vomit? Spirits, if she vomited in the middle of the Assembly her credibility would be totally ruined, they would never take her seriously – she would never get her army!

She was definitely going to vomit, or pass out, or scream, or maybe all three. She dumbly pointed the crown at Harrowmont, hoping her hands weren’t trembling too much, and after a long moment she choked out a single word, looking at Harrowmont’s composed, but certainly somewhat nervous face.

“Harrowmont,” she managed. Steward Bendelor approached her gravely, lifting the crown from her hands and offering her a kind smile.

“I appreciate your forthrightness, Warden,” he said thankfully. “You have acted with grace through this entire torturous process.”

She didn’t know what to say, wasn’t sure if she was _supposed_ to say anything, so she stepped back, watched the deshyrs file out from their positions to circle around the Steward and the bravely approaching Harrowmont.

Bendelor lifted the crown above his head, as though offering it to a god above him, and Harrowmont dropped gracefully to his knees, lowering his head, like it was in prayer. The deshyrs around them began stamping decorative staves against the stone, creating a haunting, rhythmic beating sound like the heart of some colossal beast. Bendelor laid the crown on his head, the bright, pure gold stark against his grey hair.

Let the Memories find you worthy,” he boomed, stepping back as Harrowmont rose slowly, turning towards the door. “First amidst the Lords of the houses.” The drumming came faster, louder, the beast’s heart thundering. “The King, of Orzammar.”

The thrumming stopped suddenly, Harrowmont closing his eyes and inhaling deeply in the deafening silence.

From behind them, heavy, furious footsteps thumped down a set of stairs.

“I will not abide by this!” Bhelen snarled, a handful of other men following. One of the deshyrs surrounding Harrowmont turned, snapping at him furiously.

“The ancestors have spoken!” he declared, nodding respectfully to the new King. Tsii scowled at Bhelen, grateful that the spoiled brat wasn’t going anywhere near the throne and worried what he might have done to the city had he been given reign.

“Fuck off, Bhelen,” she spat. “You’ve lost.”

Drawing a large, double-bladed axe that had been hidden behind his back, Bhelen gathered the men apparently loyal to him.

“I will not let a _surfacer_ decide the fate of the dwarves!” he roared, his men drawing their own weapons as one of the deshyrs backed away, shouting in fear.

Harrowmont seemed ready for this, and stood fast, unafraid.

“Guards!” he roared, and a small army of armoured men swamped Bhelen, completely covering the bloody scene they created until the shouts died down and they dispersed, a shoal of piranha finished with their meal.

Bhelen lay at the front of the pile of bodies, arm twisted the whole way behind his back and jaw broken, eyes glazed over and lifeless with a crack in the front and back of his upper breastplate, lining up with a deep slash into the place where his neck connected to his shoulder. It oozed endlessly, blood seeping from the mangled flesh within and pooling on the stone below.

Harrowmont stepped up beside her, new crown shining in the light and a certain regality about his posture, his hands linked behind his back.

“I admit, I did not think even Bhelen would defy the word of a Paragon,” he said solemnly, looking over the carnage. “Nor that so many would follow him.” He glanced at her, confidence oozing from every pore. “But most of Orzammar has seen him for what he really is, and I trust we will bring this insurgency under control.”

Tsii inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together, she hoped she had made the right choice.

“Show them you are a strong King,” she said softly. “And they will follow you.”

Harrowmont grunted, turning to look her up in the eye with an intensely determined look.

“I prefer to be known as a just and compassionate King,” he declared, making Tsii smile. “’Strong’ too often comes to mean ‘tyrannical’…but I will not leave this uprising unpunished.”

He tilted his head, offering her a kind, gentle smile.

“More than for my crown, I thank you for aiding Branka’s recovery of our greatest treasure. With the Anvil in our hands, I need risk no dwarven lives to counter this blight.”

There was a pang of pain deep in her chest, the feeling that the choice she had made was wrong, but she drew herself up.

“Dwarven lives will be risked regardless, King Harrowmont,” she said lowly. “The Anvil requires sacrifices to create golems.”

A myriad of emotions flashed across Harrowmont’s face in a few seconds: shock, realisation, sorrow, concern, and a determination that turned his expression grave.

“I see. I thank you for your honesty,” he said carefully. Tsii took the moment to draw herself up, taking advantage of the height she held over the dwarf and pouring all of the danger her hands held into one intimidating expression.

“King Valtor did terrible things with the Anvil, taking casteless and enemies of his to feel the hammer’s blow. I am trusting you to be a better man than him. Take no more than volunteers, and warn them of the dangers before they are taken – make yourself known as just and compassionate through your actions, not your words.”

Instead of looking offended or angry, Harrowmont nodded understandingly, not backing away from her intimidating gaze.

“I cannot say what was in King Valtor’s heart or mind, Warden,” he said respectfully. “All I can say is that your trust in me is not misplaced. The people of Orzammar are and always will be my highest priority.”

_Even the casteless?_

She thanked him, hoping that he was as good as his word.

“The word will be put out: Orzammar will join the fight on the surface, aided by a stone army, and the men and women brave enough to join this army will be immortalised as heroes.”

She smiled, wondering what would happen if there were no volunteers. Would he be able to accept that the Anvil would be unused? Would he be able to smother his pride and send flesh where he promised stone? She stepped back, thanked him again and was eager to flee the place, feel fresh air and cool rain on her skin.

At the doors of the Assembly, she was pleased to find Kardol and a handful of Leigionarres waiting, offering her the closest thing his scarred face could get to a smile. He folded his burly arms, looking up at her with respect.

“If I’d heard it second-hand I’d have called it a sodding lie,” he crowed gruffly. “Warden, we’ve got a King because of you. The rest, impressive, but the Legion is grateful most for restored leadership. It frees us to fight to the darkspawn properly.”

She offered her arm and he unfolded his to take it, grasping her forearm and squeezing the small limb with his gigantic hand.

“Orzammar is lucky to have you,” she said respectfully, trying not to wince at the crushing of her arm – it was only covered in leather.

“You’ll have us too – indirectly,” he added. “Our place is here, but when you break the blight, we’ll make sure the darkspawn have a _fine_ welcome home.” He chuckled dryly. “It’s more guarantee than any surfacer has had.”

Tsii released his arm, quirking a brow and planting a fist on her hip.

“We need you topside,” she insisted, making him narrow his eyes and tilt his head. “Show the world your skill.”

He considered her for a long moment with narrowed eyes, refolding his arms with the creak of his armour. He glanced at the men behind him silently, sharing an unreadable look that probably meant a lot to the group.

“You alone have the skill to back up your words,” he said slowly, considering every word. He finally drew himself up, tilted his head “Each of the Legion owes our homeland a death, but if our lives are better shed on the surface, so be it!”

His face drew back to seriousness, glancing at the stone around him.

“Back to Orzammar when we win, though. I’ll not stay topside to lose my stone sense.”


	30. Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait so you mean I DON'T have to put a summary for every chapter?? WHY AM I ONLY LEARNING THIS NOW???

There was a bittersweet feeling in her chest as Tsii stepped through Orzammar’s beautiful doors. Orta’s family had been restored to their former glory, Dagna was squealing and packing to leave for the Circle as she stood, the treaties were being honoured, Orzammar had recovered the Anvil…

And yet no peace for Filda.

She felt like she had lied, omitting the fact that she was behind Ruck’s death, unable to clarify when she realised how vague her language had been. The woman had wept madly, rocking back and forth before the statue as soon as the words had left Tsii’s mouth. She couldn’t get another word in, slinking away sheepishly after a few minutes and making to leave. She wanted to leave the city far behind and never return, unable to completely shake the feeling that she had left it worse off than she had found it.

After Oghren took a moment to adjust to “a world without a bleeding ceiling” they headed across the courtyard to where Bodahn was quietly sitting with his son, Sten, Zevran and Usti. He didn’t set his cart up for selling, in fact he sat next to the fire, body half in his tent as though he was hiding.

As they approached, Zevran released a loud, exaggerated shriek of a curse in what was presumably Antivan and waved his hand in front of his face enthusiastically. Sten gave a short, simple grunt and only granted them a single glance before he returned to the sword he was polishing with a folded rag and a jar of what was probably dwarven cream.

“I see you decided to take it along,” he said shortly. Oghren growled lowly, swinging his axe off his back threateningly.

“You want to c’mere and say that to my sodding face? I’ll cut your bleedin head off!”

The qunari didn’t look up again, running the cloth along his blade with long, careful strokes.

“Warden, if you intend to keep the dwarf alive I suggest removing it promptly.”

“I bet you don’t even know how to hold that fuckin sword, you nug-humper!” he spat, leaving Sten totally unfazed.

“Back off,” Tsii sighed, not particularly wanting to _touch_ Oghren, but getting his attention with a ginger nudge of her toe.

“Ah, sod off! I can take him!”

Tsii groaned lowly, running her nails along her scalp soothingly.

“I’m really not in the mood to bury a body right now,” she ground out, storming past the men to run her fingers along Usti’s hard scales. Oghren made a noise of dissent and she shot him a glare over her shoulder.

“Sit down and shut up,” she snapped. Sten quirked one white brow, giving her an unreadable look that she didn’t care enough to decipher. She rubbed the dracolisk’s muzzle, murmuring to him in Kwanitan and being rewarded with a content hiss. She rested her head against his spike-deficit cheek, running over everything in her mind.

This was not what she pictured as a child, hearing tales second or third-hand from the hunters who had traded in the Anderfels, stories of griffons soaring through the sky, brave and beautiful warriors raining death from their backs onto evil beasts below. She had pictured shining armour, glinting blades, a clear and simple battle against beasts that couldn’t be called anything but pure evil by men and women bringing good to the world.

She nuzzled Usti – Wardens were supposed to be totally apolitical, and yet every step she had taken since she left Ostagar seemed to land in another pile of political shit. Behind her, Alistair spoke up, kindly drawing her back to the present.

“Are we consulting the magic map to see where we’re going next?”

She snorted softly, releasing Usti with a gentle pat and slinging her pack off her shoulders, dropping to the ground and opening the map of Ferelden. The elegant Kwanitan script scattered across the parchment labelled crosses that marked out locations, larger ones representing cities and smaller ones showing places they had made camp. It laid out a line of where they had been, their journey thus far, marked with tiny crosses.

“Any suggestions?”

Alistair gave her a sly look, settling down at her side and peeking over her shoulder. If he was bringing it up, it was pretty clear that he did.

“Well, I was thinking Redcliffe,” he murmured, tapping on a spot near Lothering. “We’re going to have to deal with the Ferelden nobility at some point, and Arl Eamon knows more about it than any of us.”

She didn’t see why not. She shrugged with a tired sigh, tracing a route along the Imperial Highway.

“I want to go across to Flemeth’s hut after we get there,” she said gravely. “She’s not getting her hands on Morrigan while I’m still breathing.”

After a moment of silence she glanced up, finding Alistair staring at her, expression unreadable. Finally he shrugged one shoulder, frowning and looking over his shoulder at Barkspawn.

Filled with a feeling that the conversation was over, Tsii folded the map with a sigh, packing it away and jumping up.

“Let’s move while we still have daylight,” she declared. “I want to get away from this place.”

 

                                                                                                ****

 

It was oddly quiet as they approached the hills, a hardy stone bridge arcing over a rushing river which fell off into a rushing waterfall. Their travel had been quiet, not much chatter passing between them, but Alistair spoke up so suddenly that she jumped, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Look…can we talk for a moment?” he said somewhat hesitantly, hand hovering between them as though he wanted to put it on her arm, but was stopping himself. “I need to tell you something I…ah, should probably have told you earlier.”

Tsii paused, frowning and folding her arms with her hip cocked out.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” she asked incredulously, one brow quirked up. He frowned, scratched his head, avoided her eyes.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I doubt it. I’ve never liked it, that’s for sure.” He sighed, studiously keeping his eyes on her thick leather boots. “I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?”

He paused for a long time, as though expecting a response, and every word afterwards seemed forced out, like he had to pause every word to reaffirm his choice to tell her.

“The reason he did that was because…well, because my father was King Maric. Which…made Cailan my…half-brother, I suppose.”

He continued to avoid her gaze, which had turned shocked. _Really?_ She didn’t remember too much familial resemblance, and did that mean that he was in line for the throne? His expression had turned green, like he was about to vomit, and so she smirked slyly.

“So…that makes you not just a bastard…but a royal bastard?” she asked cheekily, both brows lifted as high as they would go. A surprised laugh escaped the human, and he finally met her gaze with a relieved smile.

“Yes, I guess it does at that,” he snickered. “I should use that line more often.”

She was grateful to see him relax somewhat, even as the smile slipped from his face and he fiddled with his belt idly.

“I would have told you, but…it never really meant anything to me,” he admitted with a shrug. “I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule and so they kept me secret. I’ve never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me…even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn’t want you to know, as long as possible. I’m sorry.”

She gave him a brave smile, trying to get across how little she cared about who fucked who to pop the sarcastic asshole out.

“Does Loghain know?” she asked seriously, making him frown thoughtfully.

“Why wouldn’t he? He was King Maric’s best friend.” He scratched his head, ruffling his blonde hair. “I don’t know if that means anything, though…I certainly never considered the idea that it might ever be important.” He lifted a hand to wave the thought away. “At any rate, that’s it. That’s what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it.”

Tsii smirked, tilting her head.

“Are you sure?” she said slowly. “You’re not hiding anything else?”

He snorted, humming in mock thought and putting his hand to his chin.

“Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That’s it. Just the Prince thing.”

In his defense, she had seen the man when his hair _wasn’t_ styled, and he looked like some monster that crawled out of a swamp to eat her face.

“So I should be calling you Prince Alistair?”

He made a face like he had tried to swallow a whole apple, the colour draining from his light olive skin.

“No!” he shrieked at an octave she didn’t think he could even reach. “Maker’s breath, just hearing that gives me a heart attack!”

He took a deep breath, bracing a hand on his breastplate.

“It’s not true, anyhow…” he finally muttered. “I’m the son of a commoner. It was always made clear that the throne is not in my future.” He lifted both hands with a wry chuckle. “And that’s _fine_ by me. No, if there’s an heir to be found, it’s Arl Eamon himself. He’s not of royal blood, but he _is_ Cailan’s uncle…and more importantly, very popular with the people.”

He cast a long, solemn look at the village below them, the castle perched across a serene lake.

“Though…if he’s really as sick as we’ve heard…” He shook his head suddenly. “I don’t want to think about that. I really don’t. So there you have it. Now we can move on, and I’ll just pretend you still think I’m some…nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.”

She chuckled lowly, giving him a sly look and a wink.

“As you command…my Prince,” she purred. A low, put upon groan drew out of his chest, and he rubbed his face with a gauntleted hand.

“Oh, lovely,” he grunted. “I’m going to regret this. Somehow I just know it.”

She giggled, nudging him playfully and managed to coax a smile out of him after a few tries, finally encouraging him to follow her across the bridge on the way to the village. They were barely halfway across the bridge when a stocky human ran across it to meet them, gasping for breath and stumbling to meet them.

“I…I thought I saw travellers coming down the road, though I scarcely believed it,” he panted, tears brewing in bright green eyes. “Have you come to help us?”

She glanced at Alistair before looking back at the man confusedly.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Is there a problem?”

He frowned, looking between her and Alistair with despair and shock in his eyes.

“So you…don’t know?” he whispered. “Has nobody out there heard?”

“I’ve heard Arl Eamon is sick, if that’s what you mean,” she offered. The man scoffed humourlessly, breath short and uneven.

“He could be dead, for all we know,” he croaked. “Nobody’s heard from the castle in days. We’re under attack. Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone’s been fighting…and dying.”

Morrigan sniffed from behind her.

“Apparently everyone seems to agree that a blight is the perfect time to start killing each other,” she sneered. “Marvelous, really.”

The human choked on his tears, head hunched hopelessly.

“We’ve no army to defend us, no Arl and no King to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are terrified they’re next.”

He had begun to stammer, words pouring out like the waterfall on their right, and Tsii waved her hands to calm him down.

“Hold on. What is this… _evil_ that’s attacking you?”

He shook his head, whimpering.

“I…I don’t rightly know; I’m sorry. Nobody does.” He gestured to the village below them hurriedly. “I should take you to Bann Teagen, He’s all that’s holding us together. He’ll want to see you.”

Alistair stepped up, interrupting with a kind tap on Tsii’s shoulder.

“Bann Teagan?” he asked. “Arl Eamon’s brother? He’s here?”

The man nodded, backing up quickly.

“Yes. It’s not far, if you’ll come with me.”

He turned to lead them down a pathway worn by many feet, along and down the steep hill beside the waterfall and through a village. It had definitely seen better days: the dirt was dark with dried blood, more than one home laid in splinters, a pile of rubble laying atop a pair of shoes that were probably connected to one sorry villager.

They were led to an equally run down Chantry, the star above its doors betraying its purpose, and a group of solemn men outside trained halfheartedly with cracked and unkempt swords, rusted and mismatched armour. They were gathered hopelessly around a pile of sticks tall as a man, somewhat resembling a sad bonfire.

Grunting lowly, the human opened the Chantry’s doors, which responded with a resounding groan. The walls were lined with miserable people within, curled into balls and sobbing quietly in corners. A handsome man waited at the head of the hall, finishing a conversation with a haggard looking woman and turning at the sound of the doors thudding shut behind them. He watched their approach calmly, offering a gentle, friendly smile to their guide.

“It’s…Tomas, yes?” he asked hesitantly, glancing over Tsii and her companions. “And who are these people with you? They’re obviously not simple travellers.”

The human, Tomas, he had said, dipped his head in some mix of respect and exhaustion.

“No, my Lord,” he croaked. “They just arrived, and I thought you would want to see them.”

The apparent leader inspected them curiously. His eyes were a stormy blue-grey, kind and gentle – he looked like the kind of man she wanted to confess all of her problems to, like he would listen without judgement.

“Well done, Tomas,” he murmured, making the human grin proudly. “Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the Arl.”

From beside her, Alistair spoke up, the bright twinge of nostalgia in his voice.

“I remember you, Bann Teagan,” he said joyfully. “Though the last time we met I was a lot younger and…covered in mud.”

She glanced over in time to catch a somewhat sheepish grin, and Teagan inspected the blonde for a long moment.

“Covered in mud?” he murmured thoughtfully. “…Alistair? It is you, isn’t it? You’re alive! This is wonderful news!”

The smile slipped from Alistair’s lips slowly, his face turning solemn.

“Still alive, yes, though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.”

Teagan huffed, folding his arms.

“Indeed,” he grumbled. “Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things.”

Tsii tilted her head. It was good to see people questioning that bastard’s lies, and she always appreciated a healthy dose of skeptisism.

“You don’t believe him?”

Teagan snorted, giving her a sidelong glance.

“What, that he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory?” He quirked a brow wryly. “Hardly. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the King. I don’t believe it. It is an act of a desperate man.”

He gave her another long, curious look, eyes roaming across her hard _ka'apiûara_ leather pauldrons, the rough cloth wrapped around her. She did feel a little out of place, in her cooling, absorbant armour – even the natives of the icebox of a country wrapped themselves in furs and wool, and her dark red-brown skin probably made her status as an outsider quite clear.

“So…you are a Grey Warden as well?” he asked respectfully, treating her to a short, polite bow and a smile. “A pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Not certain how to respond, she scratched her head, babbling out some pathetic excuse for a greeting. Teagan smiled somewhat sadly, apparently unperturbed.

“You’re here to see my brother?” he asked solemnly. “Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill. No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts.”

He sighed, pacing back and forth with his arms folded elegantly behind his back.

“The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil…things…surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault.”

Tsii lifted a hand to stop him, leaning forwards.

“Wait, evil “things”? What sort of evil things?”

Teagan paused, frowning and looking at the ground for a long time.

“Some call them the walking dead;” he said with a visible shudder. “Decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh…they hit again the next night.” He sighed. “Each night they come, with greater numbers. With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one responds to my urgent calls for help. I have a feeling tonight’s assault will be the worst yet.” He looked up sheepishly, meeting Alistair’s eyes. “Alistair, I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends.”

“It isn’t just up to me,” the blonde pointed out, presumably gesturing to Tsii. “Though the Grey Wardens don’t stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon.”

Teagan’s gaze returned to the elf, and she bore the brunt of a gentle, hopeful smile that would have melted a golem’s stone heart.

“Of course we’ll help,” she said, far more confidently than she felt. The relieved sigh that whispered from his lips made her heart swell, and Sten’s displeased, low voice shattered whatever spell the handsome man had over her.

“There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to gain,” he said flatly. “It is a fool’s errand.”

She squared her shoulders, turning to look at the Qunari. His gaze was hard, expectant, and she inhaled through her nose, determined to not let him intimidate her.

“We need to rescue the Arl,” she insisted, meeting his gaze bravely. “He will aid us in fighting the darkspawn.”

His stony expression didn’t shift – if she didn’t know better, she would have thought he didn’t hear her at all.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, low and thoughtful. Morrigan sniffed from her other side, calling her attention. She had her arms folded, pretty lips curled into a scowl and wide hip cocked out, drawing Tsii’s eyes down the length of her elegant body without her permission.

“How pointless,” she sneered, “to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere.”

She didn’t know how to answer the woman, surely she understood that they needed some kind of ally in the Ferelden nobility, to help them fight against Loghain?

“Thank you!” Teagan blurted out joyfully, quickly correcting himself by clearing his throat. “I…thank you. This…means more to me than you can guess.”

He glanced behind her, at the human she thought had left by now, and nodded to him with the same politeness that he showed her companions.

“Tomas, please tell Murdock what transpired,” he asked softly. “Then return to your post.”

It was less of a command and more a request between friends. If Arl Eamon was anything like his brother, it was no wonder that he was so popular among the people. Tomas smiled proudly at the kind words he had been offered, and he dipped his head in a bow.

“Yes, my Lord,” he said brightly, turning to leave dutifully. Teagan watched him go for a moment, with a satisfied smile – apparently pleased with how happy he had made the human. He glanced back at Tsii, all business now, but not lacking the kind smile that seemed permanently affixed to his face.

“Now then. There is much to do before night falls,” he declared. “I’ve put two men in charge of the defense outside. Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the chantry. Ser Perth, one of Eamon’s knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. You may discuss with them the preparations for the coming battle.”

Tsii lifted a hand to stop him.

“Actually, I want to discuss the situation with you. Isn’t the timing of this awfully…” she folded her arms, searching for the right word. “…convenient?”

Teagan’s smile faltered, worry creasing his brow.

“Are you suggesting what’s happened here is related to Cailan’s death and the civil war? Even Eamon’s illness?”

She didn’t say anything, nodding solemnly and Teagan’s hand leaped up to his hair, gauntlet running along messy red locks.

“I really haven’t given it a lot of thought, to be honest,” he admitted softly. “It’s been a struggle just to survive. But it could be involved with the throne, yes. Our sister was Cailan’s mother. I _suppose_ we’ve royal blood, but it’s a shaky claim to the throne…” He shrugged one shoulder. “Though still better than Loghain’s. And it does mean Eamon could intervene in Loghain’s bid for the throne.”

He glanced back up at Tsii, dropping his hand. “But let’s not leap to conclusions. I would not like to think that anyone would…wish this on my brother. He is a good man, and much-loved by the people of Redcliffe. And I can’t imagine how terrible it must be for Arlessa Isolde and especially Connor. I would not want him to lose his father at such a young age.”

Tsii nodded, glancing at the doors as though she would see through them to the men she needed to speak with.

“You said Ser Perth was one of Arl Eamon’s knights, how many are here?”

Teagan straightened, apparently happier talking about less emotional matters and linking his arms behind his back.

“I have those few who returned from their quest. You know of this, yes?”

No.

She frowned, scratching her scalp and looking confusedly at Alistair.

“Quest? What quest?”

Surprise crossed his handsome face before he composed himself, his gentle smile still fixed on his lips but sorrow in his eyes.

“Eamon’s illness was…is very serious.” He explained softly. “The Arlessa, out of desperation, sent the knights on a quest for a cure. I know little about this, other than that the cure was supposed to be an ancient relic of great power. Ser Perth was one of the knights sent on this quest. Perhaps you should speak to him if you wish to learn more.”

She wondered how some kind of ancient relic would help cure a sick man, surely herbs and magic would be a better bet? She gave him a respectful nod and then corrected herself, giving him a stiff mimicry of the bow Tomas had shown. He returned the gesture, looking between each of her companions and seeming unperturbed by her _utter_ lack of knowledge of his customs.

“Luck be with you, my friend,” he said kindly. He didn’t waste time, quickly turning to a rapidly approaching man and beginning to speak with him before Tsii had even left. She shrugged, turning on her heel and making a note to speak with this Murdock.


End file.
